Heart, Check
by CoffeehouseSpadille
Summary: Just a story of Aizawa's life and how it has changed after adopting Eri. A story of mutual healing and growing, and moving on as a family, of finding one's better half, of rediscovering love and trust, and of the extent to which love guides one. But how will Shota respond to such foreign feelings? And Eri? Rated M because I believe certain curses/acts are ill-suited for T ratings.
1. Chapter 1 - Laying Sediment

**A/N:** _Ohayo_~ This is a story I've been working on since October '18-ish, when I first got the idea of making Aizawa's adopting (not just caretaking) Eri canon. It's been a blast writing this story, and I'm excited to share it. There are a lot of references to past, unexplained events in Aizawa's life - intentionally - and a lot of emotional scars and defense mechanisms because of it. Also, there may be times in which you may question if Aizawa is written in-character because of his inner thoughts. This is all intentional. As someone who identifies with this character and processes the world similarly, all I can say is _trust me_. I can truthfully say that writing Aizawa's dialogue and thoughts are pretty darn close to writing in a diary or just simply thinking to myself. I'm not a parent yet, but this is pretty much how I'd envision myself parenting. So, I suppose in reading this, y'all get a little peek of knowing me in real life.  
In all honesty, the quotes that inspired the history I've set up for Aizawa were (English dub version): "The world is full of unfairness. It's a hero's job to try and combat that unfairness" and his constant, almost therapeutic repetition of the word "rational." ...Meh, a lot more is explained throughout the story, and others to come. But this is the first of my series(..?).

Now, some things to cover, I guess:

\- I made Aizawa grow up in Shikoku, one of the other islands of Japan, as opposed to Honshu, which MHA takes place (Tokyo-ish, dubbed Musutafu). So, to make it more obvious that the dialect is different between the two islands (and Aizawa from everyone else), I kind of write him in with a British-esque touch (don't ask why; it just happened that way XD)

\- Aizawa's younger in my version; like between 23-24 in this particular story. I wanted to make him a young parent just because, so... Yeah...

…Guess that was it - everything else gets covered in the story, I think..

_**COVER PICTURE is the property of the lovely kiki0kit ( kiki_kit on Tumblr)! Thank you so much for your contribution to my story, kiki0kit! It fits perfectly!_

Do enjoy! R&R (respectfully, please), and if you have any questions, I'd love to answer them! Thanks for your time!

**_Heart, Check_**

"_Father is the noblest title a man can be given." -Robert L. Backman_

_..._

**Chapter 01 Laying Sediment**

It had been only three hours since Shota dropped young Eri off at kindergarten…or attempted to. It was her third try in the past month; every time Shota helped her out of the car seat and onto the pavement, and every time she set her bright, crimson eyes upon the green-tarp fence, the little girl would sink into her purple and pink turtleneck sweater, clutching her gray skirt, pick at her black cloth leggings, and stare at her brown Uggs. Shota, too preoccupied with gathering her lavender Rapunzel backpack and yellow raincoat to notice her hesitance, would then shove his hands in his pockets and say, "Ready?" But as meticulous as ever, he would notice the silent resign in her stiff posture, her dodging eyes, and squat down to ask, "What's wrong?"

Eri would rush into his arms, hiding her face in his chest, admitting she was scared, that she did not want to go, that she was not ready. She would cry, clutching his sleeves, and beg not to go inside. It would not matter who watched them, who laughed at her, or how many sympathetic grins Shota received (honestly, it didn't; anyone who dared look their way would merit one of Shota's famous unblinking scowls until they lost their nerve). She could not bear being alone without him, her safety. Usually a stern man, Shota would agree patiently, scoop her into his arms, and return to his black '72 Chevelle before too big a scene was made. They would resort to breakfast at a cafe on the east side of town, a quaint Western dine-in that smelled of warm hearths and hot chocolate where she could eat cinnamon rolls with apple juice and sliced fruit. Shota would warn her not to stuff herself into a stomach ache, but she would insist that there was nothing to worry about. Eri would fall asleep on the way home, clutching the horse toy he let her pick out for behaving for Recovery Girl—Shota had to rush out to find (and punish) Kaminari and Ashido after dinner for trespassing in an area conveniently located close enough to his house.

Once home, Shota would take Eri's backpack over his shoulder, then her and her toy in his arms, and head inside to place her on the couch, tucking her in with a wool blanket after removing her shoes. The day would continue as if nothing had happened.

And this time proved to be no different, aside from Shota settling for coffee instead of a breakfast dish, and the incessant stirring inside him never ceasing. As he watched the girl scarf down the sugary rolls, a synergy of unexpressed concerns and unsatisfied conclusions as to why getting Eri from point A to point B was problematic formed a twinge in his stomach, enough so that he, normally at ease in posture, picked at the lines of his palm. He narrowed his eyes and averted his attention to the vintage American items around the space: framed advertisements of smiling women in high skirts, dusty gumball machines with a metal crank, a jukebox that charged 25 cents per song, everything in reds and whites. Old, tacky shit.

"Looks like a museum." Eri too had her eyes on the items. "Especially the music thing."

"That's, uh...a jukebox, sweetheart," Shota corrected, sipping the coffee. "And yes. It does."

"Juke...bock."

"Juke-_box_."

"Why's it called that?"

"I'm...not sure. Probably some linguistic nonsense to it." Taking note of the wordless stare Eri pulled, he clarified, "Some bored old bags came up with a boring, new way to think about how we use boring words." For dramatic purposes, he rolled his eyes in a juvenile manner to make her at least smile.

It worked; Eri fell into a timid mess of giggles. "That sounds boring!"

"Exactly." Peaceful quiet passed for a moment, and as the little girl opened wide for another frosting-filled bite, Shota spoke suddenly. "So, Eri...this is your third time shying away from school. Why?" A fraction of his heart knew the answer, but the other half knew this was more to help the girl voice her thoughts. But the girl shook her head and dropped her eyes. Shota caught a glance of himself in the reflection of the window behind her and traded his routine mug for a softer, approachable countenance. He clouded the usually impatient, dragging trill of his voice to something more welcoming, more reassuring. "You're not...you're not in trouble. I just...want...to know." He knew concluding with a stern '_now_' like with his class would not work here, so he chose to instead say, "You can tell me."

"I'm..." Eri clutched the thick fabric of her skirt. "Um, well... I was..."

"Uh-huh?" Shota encouraged.

"I want to be with you instead." Eri peeked at him. "I'm not ready to go on alone. But I don't want to make you upset, either..."

Without taking his eyes off her, he sighed internally. How would one say no to an answer like that? Logically, he knew he had to convince her to go. Somehow. Children needed school, not just for learning, but to be socially active and take in the world, to be independent and strive on their own, to grow. His heart hurt, just studying the timid girl before him. His arms almost reached across the table to take her hand in his, but his mind shut the idea down. Saved by muscle memory. _Emotions come second_, he composed himself. _She needs to see reason_. It had been his mantra since his mother brought Tsubasa home, since the first burn was delivered upon his skin at the hands of the bastard. His logic-only cathedrals of security he had crafted against such brute violence, against his brother Jong's Quirk-hating words.

"I don't want them here anymore," Shota had once told his mother as she smoked on the curb.

Her response? A cold leer and a scoff. "Sensitive as usual." He remembered how she shook her head before suddenly smacking the wood, causing him to jolt. "Damn it, Shota! Who do you think's paying the bills?!" He had no answer, and resigned to staring at his feet. "If you don't like them here, I don't like you here."

He was eleven, with lifted imprints of Tsubasa's cane searing under his shirt and a heart slowly being swallowed by stone and ice until he no longer felt its beating. His mother had long since left his abuser and sought out help for her drinking. They had lunch every two weeks, and Shota noticed a fragment of her estranged, gentle smile returning. They laughed only once together, but not for long. She admitted to missing his father's presence; he said he did, too. But he did not see it necessary to remind her that his old man had been dead for years. Her words. Shota recalled only one memory: he was five and dreading the idea of telling his father he got in trouble for pushing another kid off the jungle gym at school, though his mother applauded it. But the last sight he held onto of the man was of the back of his head the morning before. The last birthday he celebrated.

"Is your tummy hurting?" Shota startled from the chambers of locked-away memories that was his mind and met eyes with the little girl across the table from him. He raised his eyebrows to show he had heard her. "Sometimes when you drink too much of that stuff," she said, staring at his coffee, "it makes your tummy hurt. That's what Todoroki said once."

"Ah," he said. "That can happen to some people. But I'm fine." A blend of midnight melancholy, volcanic anger, and layered regret tightened their manacles on his conscience, and he squeezed his fist so tightly that his nails pierced his palm. Eri gasped slightly. Her eyes paused him, those innocent, beaming eyes that had seen too much too soon...distraught by his self-treatment. "Sorry," he said, grabbing a napkin and hiding his hands under the table. Clearing his throat, he said, "S-so, you don't want to be away from me, is what you're saying?" But in his mind, he had to repeat the mantra to himself: _Be rational; no one can hurt you if you're rational_.

Eri dropped her eyes. "Mm-hm."

"Eri," he started in his usual, dull tone, "you can't keep hiding from things because they're hard. What's so scary about school?"

"You said I wasn't in trouble...!"

"You're not. But I need to understand why this keeps happening."

"I just don't want to go!"

"Lower your voice."

"I...don't want to go..."

"It would be irresponsible and illogical for you not to go."

"But…that doesn't help me feel better."

Shota froze, slammed by the sound of his own voice in her words. Is this what his mother saw, a small, trembling child who cannot make eye contact for more than a few seconds? How could he keep himself from giving in to her? How did his mother do it? How did she keep her voice steady, how did she always know how to combat his worries with harsh words?

But, in the end, _rationally_… Was this the right approach?

In all honesty, logic never satisfied him either—it simply distracted him beyond his own comprehension. He had long suppressed himself from the world and the people in it as a means of survival, and barricaded himself from the rare people who wanted to know the real Shota Aizawa only made him feel empty. Comfortable and safe, sure; but utterly, bitterly empty. From his first sight of Eri with her dirt-trodden hair and tattered hospital gown and bandages, he knew there existed a sudden warmth between them, held deep inside his guarded heart. Such instinctual awareness was validated when Eri constantly asked for him in the hospital, often in the eeriness of dawn and darkness of night. Even upon discharge, she would roam the campus and dorms in search of him, asking the security bots for him. She wanted Mirio and Deku, too, of course; but throughout the day and night, it was this 'Mister with the Sleepy Face' she needed. Either by that or empath's trait, or both, no matter how he attempted to conceal it, he _knew_.  
But as of now, in the near-quiet diner, he had nothing to say. So, he paid the bill and stood, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Let's head back, huh?"

##

Now, in the quiet of the house, Eri sat at the kotatsu, meticulously filling the pages of her safari coloring book, a soft autumn breeze slipping through the open sliding door, the rustling of leaves drowning out of the whispers coming from the TV. Not much ran through her mind besides the biting question as to whether or not she upset Shota. She knew he meant her no harm, but she knew she could not stand how his eyelids dimmed when disappointment struck him. He would say nothing more, perhaps a short phrase of encouragement and reassurance, but be silently resigned. She confused him, she knew, and she did not wish to further perplex the man who was kind enough to take her as his own. Her blue crayon broke as she scribbled halfway through coloring the bright summer sky. Holding up the stubbed end, she caught sight of her unwrapped arms, of the pink, shining scars that designed her skin, and slowly slid her sleeves to the middle of her tiny palm. The fabric fell flat on her arms, as Shota had recently massaged aloe gel on them, a daily routine for the mornings before school (or at least at that time) and nights after bath time.

As she used to wince when contact was made to the slice-marks, a burning memory of Chisaki, she now held the sheer sleeves to her cheek, closing her eyes and taking in the fresh scent of the gel. She could only think of Shota's careful touch, how he held her hand with one of his and massaged with the other. From what she heard from his students, he was a 'hard-ass savage' in the classroom (not that she knew what they meant by that), but every time she was alone with him, she saw that he was patient, placid, and soft. He rarely smiled and was a tad less of a talker than she thought, but she relished his quiet presence and how terms of endearment seemed unfit for his personality, and yet he offered them to her like he always offered his hand or company. The odd, yet intriguing way he pronounced his words—as he spoke in another manner than everyone else she knew. She wondered why, where he grew up, if maybe she was the one who sounded funny to him. She was comfortable, but timid in how she addressed him, unsure of what his reaction might be, but not so that she would dare take the leap.

"Eri." She looked over her shoulder at the shaggy pro-hero at the door, his bangs clumsily clipped on the top of his head and a yellow apron covering his front. "Okay in here? You aren't cold, are you?"

"No," she said. "I was coloring the book you bought me."

Shota hummed and, when she turned back to the book, plucking out a purple crayon, took a moment before coming in and sitting on the couch. "Look, uh..." He fidgeted with his hands. Eri turned back to him, eyes wide and curious. "You know I..." He frowned and rolled his eyes to the ceiling before trying again. "I...I'm not at all a…an expert on this stuff. I'm...milking it most of the time, but y'know I just...want..." His eyes trailed to the side as a pink tint pinched his cheeks. "I just want the best for you. 'N I'm sorry if I made it sound like I didn't back at the cafe."

"I know," Eri accepted. She put her hands on his knee, tugging at his pants, and smiled shyly at him. "I know you care a lot."

Shota cleared his throat and looked directly over her head, just off the tip of her baby horn. _I'm rambling,_ he thought.

Eri clutched the fabric of his pants. "Can I ask you something, Mister?" Shota looked at her, a hand on the back of his head, and hummed in approval. "How come you talk slow sometimes and then really fast other times?" Eri asked, curiously. "Why do you have to start over sometimes, if it only makes you upset?"

Shota's face flushed deeper, and his eyes wandered for a short time. "W-... Well... Sometimes, I just freeze."

"You freeze?" Eri touched his arm, a little bemused crinkle in her brow.

Shota pet her head. "Not that kind of freeze. Sometimes, I just can't…_talk_...?" he tried to explain. "It's called a stutter."

"Does it hurt when you freeze?" Eri asked.

"No," he assured her. "But it does get frustrating, especially when I'm arguing with someone." Shota tapped her nose. "Enough about me. What can I do to make going to school easier for you?"

"I...don't know." Eri pouted. "I don't like to worry you. I just...get scared when I have to be alone again."

"I see."

"I feel like I'm okay when I wake up in the morning." Her voice trembled as she spoke, "But then when I see the fence, I lose it and even just seeing you makes me feel better."

"You lose your nerve?"

"Yes, Mister."

"Uh-huh..." He crossed his arms in thought. "You don't need to be formal with me, y'know. You don't have to call me 'mister' or 'sir'. Only my students do."

"Okay," Eri accepted.

"So..." Shota thought aloud. "That explains a lot."

"I'm sorry. I don't know what happens, but it just happens."

"Don't...apologize," Shota said, gathering his words as best as he could on the spot. "I can respect that you told me that. But maybe… Um…" He scowled, at a loss. Eri blinked, waiting patiently. "Well, how about a little story, then? Up we go." He lifted the little girl and set her on the leather cushion beside him. Eri gathered closer to him, excitedly; she had heard from Jiro and Deku that Shota had some of the best life stories to share, when he wanted to. "What if I told you I wasn't so good at being left on my own when I was little, too?"

"You weren't?"

"Nope. But I wasn't as...calm as you were about it. Actually, my mom's first school picture of me is just...me, sitting on the floor, crying my face off." Eri gasped, but wanted to hear more. She took note of how much more fluid and relaxed Shota became the more he spoke. It was just a casual conversation. She beamed at him, sitting at full attention on her little knees. Reminiscing, Shota chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck slowly. "I'm talking snot-face, screaming at the _top_ of my lungs, hanging onto my mom's leg. I made her late to rehearsal—she was an opera singer." Eri laughed a little, but stopped herself short to be respectful. Shota watched her with an approving smirk on his face. "It's okay. You can laugh. It's funny."

"But why were you so scared?" Eri said, getting closer to him.

"Well, when I was five, it was just me and my mother. Mama worked a lot to support us." Shota rested his cheek in his palm. "So, I was left at home alone most of the time—even before my dad left, 'cause he worked, too. But I wanted nothing more than to be with my parents."

Eri nodded in understanding. She too wished for nothing but to spend more time with Shota, but knowing his background, how absent his mother and father had been, she felt she had no reason to be so selfish. "So, what did your mother do? Did she take you to get food, too?"

Shota scoffed. "Oh, please. She told me she would call Krampus, and have him lay my sorry butt out. If she didn't do it first, that is."

Eri shrunk at the sound of that—in the night, she saw online articles about mysterious creatures (little to Shota's knowledge) when she could not sleep and knew Shota was too far gone to comfort her, judging by his snores. Her reading was less than the average five-year-old, but the pictures told her enough about the monsters. "Oh, no..."

"It worked." The pro-hero chuckled. "It sure did work."

"Are you gonna call Krampus to visit me, too?" the girl asked, pulling herself into a tight ball. "You don't have to..." She had no idea what Shota meant by having his butt laid out, but, judging by the tragic way he laughed in memory about it, she knew it probably was not fun.

"Hm..." Shota considered, narrowing his eyes playfully at her. "I don't know about Krampus, but I heard the Boogieman eats little girls who miss too much school." He winked at her.

Eri gasped and hid under one of the decorative wool blankets slung over the head of the couch, trying to wriggle herself to hide under Shota's leg. But in her panic, she heard him laughing lightly. Soon, two strong hands lifted her up in the air and swung her around in the air. She squealed in laughter when he tossed her in the air, catching her soon after.

Shota held her close, and she placed her small hands on his shoulders. He was smiling softly, and she stared at him, shocked. The first smile she had seen from him that was not at his class's expense; it was kind and doting, and suited his usually-stern and unamused face well...and it was all for her. She only wished he would show it more often. "You're a little piece of work, aren't you?" He pulled her nose. "We'll figure it out, all right?"

"I'll try harder to go to school on Monday, Daddy," Eri promised, and lurched forward to hug him around the neck, much to his earth-rattling shock. "I'll be strong like you."

Shota rubbed her back with his free hand. "I got you, kid," he said in a voice almost too tender, too foreign to be his own. A voice reserved for no one until this moment—the moment he knew for sure. Hearing himself and the amount of hidden hope inside him, he thought it a wonder that he, in all the beatings the world had subjected him to, all the bloodied knuckles and snowflake lips and burning in his bloodstream during the grim times, he chanced a glimpse of the prized silver-lining he had thought to be complete fiction. He rationalized that his endured life by God's mockery shifted, and this…_Eri_…was his shot at a true second chance. And he would be hers. For once, in full truth, he could say he was satisfied. Heaven came to him in the shape of a baby girl, and he would raise all nine circles of the Inferno to provide for her, to protect her, to give her her best shot like the father he was meant to be. All while never letting a single flame touch her.

Eri felt home in his arms, leaning her head on his shoulder and closing her eyes, listening to his racing heart calm into a lullaby. She had before been graced with a hero's touch, been shielded by another's cape. But here, in this moment, in the quiet, lavender-cedarwood now, she forgot about her scars, about Chisaki, about her Quirk. She only knew the arms of her new father. She understood 'home' now.

Shota put his chin on her head, a tad embarrassed that they had spent about a full two minutes in wordless embrace. But if she needed it, she needed it. "So, uh—" An earth-shaking growl erupted the otherwise quiet room, a tiny earthquake against Shota's chest that made the little girl flinched. "Whoa." He slowly craned his neck and looked at her blushing face. "All right?"

"No... We were having a moment." Eri held her hands to her face, shaking her head.

"Well, we can have other moments. It's okay. Here, take your hands off your—"

"Don't look at me...!"

Shota chuckled once and pushed her hair onto one side of her horn. "All right, all right. Good thing I started cooking early, I guess…" He carried her out the room. "How about some apples?"


	2. Chapter 2 - High Tide

**Chapter 02 High Tide**

Outside, it was a humid Saturday afternoon, petrichor emanating from the warmed cement and sun-kissed grass. Shota stared out the kitchen window in a mindless, exhausted stupor, with an occupying knife in one hand and a slab of beef taking up the other. Eri had suffered another nightmare the night before, and he swore to the girl that he would sit by her side on her bed to make sure no one was coming to get her. No Chisaki or mysterious creatures or men with knives. He read her favorite book, sang to her, until she fell asleep. Even as she slept, as she cuddled close to him, he remained sitting, staring up and down the wall, out the frosted-up window, at her calm face undisturbed by the fear that chased her into his arms. But now, he was teeter-tottering between wake and sleep as he stood, and he had to startle himself out of a dozing trance once or twice as he slowly sliced tonight's meat.

A sharp, dull pain shot through Shota's posterior, a force so severe that he thrusted forth into the counter, lost his grip on the cleaver in his hand and bashing his other hand into raw, bloody meat. "Ow, shit—"

"You have to pay the Oopsie jar now."

He looked over his shoulder to see only himself in the bay window, then way down to see Eri' smiling face, cheeks flushed from outside play, a mud-stained finger pointed accusingly at him. He sighed to release the shock from his body and rubbed his neck, only to find cow blood stained his skin. "Eri—"

"Oopsie jar!"

"_Okay_. Take it easy." Taking a paper towel, he cleaned his hands and neck before squatting down, reaching into his wallet and giving the expecting girl a five-dollar bill. "Here. Happy?" She nodded quickly and pat his head. "Now, look, missy. Don't ram Mr. Aizawa like that. You could have really hurt him."

"But I was playing with the kitty!" She held up the resident cat, her black fur as well as her pale cheeks, clothes, and hands stained brown with mud. "Dude likes to play Construction Man!"

"Well, does Dude know Construction Man gets you all riled up and dirty?" Shota asked, taking the girl's face in one hand and scrubbing her cheeks with a baby wipe with the other. Eri moaned and squirmed, but he had steady hands. "Don't fuss. You're gonna get mud on the floor."

"I want to keep playing, though," Eri complained lightly.

"If you didn't go running around like a little crazy piglet in the mud, like I _told_ you not to, you would get to."

"But piglets love mud!" Eri giggled, now amused by her caretaker's snappy attitude and intense face-scrubbing.

Shota's eyebrow twitched as he viciously scrapped at a particularly stubborn stain on her right cheekbone. "Well, I don't. Not on my carpet, at least."

"How come Dude isn't getting scrubbed?"

"Oh, she'll get his turn. Right now, you're the target."

"But Daddy...! Ow, you're gonna rub my face off!"

"Then you should have—" Shota froze, pausing his strenuous labor, "listened...to me." He could have sworn the little girl had called him that before, so why did it strike him so fiercely now? Was he half-heartedly listening to her the previous time? Why did it hit so hard?

"Daddy?" Eri cocked her head to the side, one of her dirt-stained cheeks spotless and a tad pink. "What's wrong?" She came forward and held his face in her small hands. "Is it because I did something bad? I'm sorry."

"No... It's nothing, sweetheart." Shota regained his composure and averted his gaze for a moment. "Just sit still for me." A moment of quiet cleaning passed before he said, "Y'know, I wouldn't be calling you piglet if you weren't a little ball of energy. You live up to the name, I guess."

Eri perked up, cheeks tinted at the affection. "Piglets love playing, right?" She climbed up on his knee and leaning her head on his chest.

"Yes, they do," Shota agreed, moving on to cleaning her hands, gingerly sticking the wipe under her nails and between each marble-like knuckle. "But they love their vegetables even more."

"Aw..."

"Uh-uh. No complaining. You go crazy outside, you eat extra vegetables. And all of them, even the bell peppers."

"Okay..." Eri shook out her hair and continued to pout. But noticing how still the man went, she looked up at him to see that he was spotted with mud and sported a rather dumbfounded gape. "Oh! Sorry, Daddy."

Shota wiped a hand down his face, and as his eyes reappeared to her, they were intimidating, darkened, dangerous, yet he smirked maliciously. "Five," Eri cocked her head to the side, "four," he warned. "Three... _two_!" Eri squealed ad scrambled off his knee, darting out the kitchen towards the living room. Shota chuckled, switching off the stove, "One," and high-tailing it after her. In seconds, he found her, by her giggles, hiding behind one of the house plants, caught her ankles and the entire house filled up with her uncontrollable laughter.

—**hours later****—**

Shota, with both hands firmly planted on the table, a dishrag tossed over his shoulder, the kitchen and dining room tidied up, save for a single plate, stared intently at Eri, sporting a textbook expression of tested patience. Eri stared back at him with pleading, stubborn eyes, her chin rested on the table with her plate that held only three strips of green bell peppers, two slices of yellow squash, and a single baby carrot. Shota raised his eyebrows, and Eri raised hers to copy. He sighed and dropped his head. "Eri, you have to finish your food."

"It's cold," Eri insisted.

"I heated it up four times already. Now, eat." The clock over the girl's head read 9:23. He clenched his jaw and dragged his eyes back to hers. "C'mon. Right now."

"It's too dry."

"Wasn't dry when I cooked it."

"It's too mushy."

"It's only mushy 'cause I microwaved it _four times_."

"I'm full!"

"Eri!" The child leapt from her seat. Shota rubbed the bridge of his nose for a moment. "I'm just about fed up with this. You're not leaving that chair until you finish your plate."

"But—"

"_Now_." Teary-eyed, Eri scooped up the vegetables in her tiny fist and shoved them into her mouth, swallowing in seconds, before ripping from the chair. "Listen—" She darted past him, dodging his open hand, and up the stairs. "Eri—"

_SLAM._

"Oh, _hell_ no. Young lady, you better—" Shota balled his fists in frustration, ramming the palms into his eyes. "No. Don't do it," he warned himself. He raked his hands through his hair to distract and calm himself before throwing them back down in another long huff. "Nice going, Shota. Raise your voice at a little girl with trauma." He snatched the now-vacant plate and stormed to the sink. "Oh, no, even better! Force her to eat things she doesn't like," he mumbled, viciously washing and racking the dishware. "Damn it." He tore the dishrag from his shoulder and set it to the side. "A-plus fucking parenting." After staring out the window at the half moon, he opened the fridge for a beer and jumped up on the counter.

He was no stranger to being stern with children—hell, he had expelled about a hundred of them without having more than two years of teaching under his belt—and he had no problem with giving tough love. He could deal with tears, glares, bickers, and I-hate-you's during detention and extra training. He had the will to give failing grades and the heart to scold remedials. In the end, he knew his every harsh word and slightly harsher punishments would make for stronger, sharper heroes of the future. There was always a lesson to be learned; he was not one to give blind orders or punishments out of anger. He was more reasonable than that.

So why, beside her not being a student, was Eri's reaction any different? Why did his heart hang low with guilt, even though he knew young children needed their nutrients?

He knew he had not particularly been too hard on her, he knew he was way softer than he was with his students, so what went wrong? Had he done that when he was younger, he would expect a toasted ass. But as he moved, as the sharp chill of the wall skimmed his back, he shuddered from it in a manner not aligning that of shock. After all this time, it still stung—a reminder of the promise he made to himself: to be gentler than his 'parents' (of course, no one of his class would have ever guessed that). But Eri would have to do something terrible for him to resort to that. Reading the clock that now read 9:40, he hopped down and tossed the empty bottle in the recycling cart by the door, shoved his hands in his pockets, and made for the stairs.

Growing up, his main source of comfort resonated with his grandparents and the arts. His younger brother never supported or encouraged him, but Shota could always (indirectly) count on him when it came to being pushed to strive for heroism. Jong stood as the symbol of irresponsibility, selfishness, and weakness—a module of what a hero is to combat. But being five years apart... Well, the distance spoke for itself. When he had contacted his brother recently, hesitantly asking for advice on raising a young child, lying that it was necessary for a new piece of writing, only a phlegmy, gruff voice admonished Shota's rash decision-making. Shota lost his patience within five minutes and growled, "You're useless." His next choice: call his grandparents, but that idea died in milliseconds, deciding he had not the patience to be scolded like a child. But now, like he did with his teaching, he figured he would throw in his best cards and see how they played out. Logic, of course, and personal experience. New parent or not, he knew he had to do something. So, he trudged up the stairs to the loft bedroom of his minimalist house. When he reached the top, the double bed he shared with his daughter was neatly made and devoid of a pouty five-year-old. By the slam of a door, though, he knew Eri was hiding in the bathroom.

Reaching the seemingly nailed-shut door decorated with pink and purple flower stickers, he knocked twice. "It's me. I'm, uh..." He rubbed the back of his head. "Look, I wouldn't have snapped at you if you'd just done what I—" Considering her tragic past and his promise, he remembered to be gentle, but kept his voice monotone so she would know to listen closely. "Sweetheart, I'm… Open the door so we can talk. I'm not going to yell at you." He heard two little feet step out of the tub, approaching the door on tile floor. The door opened; Eri took one glance at her father before darting past him to their bed to hide her face in pillows and toys. Shota came to her side, sitting on the bed by her. "I know you're upset right now, but I need you to... C'mon." He grabbed her by the sides and hoisted her up to face him. "Up, up, up." He sighed, now holding eye contact with the girl. "Look. I need you to understand that when I tell you to do something, I mean it. There are reasons why I do that."

"I really hate bell peppers, Daddy," Eri insisted.

"Do you know what I really hate?" Shota asked after a moment. "Beets. I absolutely hate them."

"We had beets last night. You finished all of them, too."

"I know. It's because my parents knew I didn't like them, but they also knew I needed the vitamins." The girl fidgeted with her skirt, knowing exactly what would happen next. "Same goes for you. When I tell you to finish your plate, you finish your plate. You need your vitamins, too."

Eri crossed her arms, mirroring her father. "But what if I'm full?"

"Oh, no." He poked her side playfully, causing her to wince. "I pay attention to how much you eat. I'm not falling for that."

"But Daddy..." Defeated, resorting to juvenile slouching and whining, she said nothing more.

He studied her face, where he expected to see resistance, he saw an overwhelming pout. "Okay, how about this: I'll find a way to cook bell peppers in a way you'll like, _but_ you have to promise me you'll keep trying. No fussing, no crying, no excuses."

"_Mm_...! But..."

"I'm not gonna let you go to bed hungry just because you don't like something. We'll keep trying, do things differently, and hopefully, find a solution. I just want you to keep trying is the thing. Deal?" With an encouraging smirk, he held out his scarred elbow. A peace offering.

"Deal..." Eri slowly sat up, hooking her arm at the joint with his.

"So? Any requests? Sauces? Seasoning?" the man asked as she crawled in his lap with her horse plush.

"Oyster sauce!"

"Oyster sauce it is. Crunchy or soft?"

"Crunchy, please."

"All right. Hm... sliced or cubed?"

"Cubes, so I can give it to Sushi!"

"_Eri_."

"Okay. I'll eat them."

"How about I mix them up in a seafood curry? I know you like shrimp and halibut."

"Yummy!"

Shota chuckled, petting her moonlight hair. "Yeah, we'll see tomorrow night. But," he gripped her cheeks and turned her face to his, narrowing his eyes, "if we have to spend another two hours at the table, I won't be a happy camper."

"No, Daddy, be happy!" Eri pushed her soft hands into his cheeks until it looked like he was smiling. "Being cranky isn't good for you."

"Yeah, well, being a little troublemaker isn't good news for you either, missy." As he spoke, he teased Eri's sides with light squeezes, smiling softly at her explosive reaction of scream-laughter, flailing extremities and waves of hair. A few moments passed, and he ended the playful torment and smoothed the girl's hair. "All right." He lifted her high in the air, making her giggle, before holding her under his arm like a sack. "Bath time, then it's time for this piglet to go to bed." Now in the bathroom, he set Eri down on the counter and turned to start the faucet, mixing soap in the water. "Ready?" Eri nodded quickly and raised her arms over her head.

It had been months since the school allowed him to take in Eri. But, while apprehensive about the idea of raising an emotionally-troubled child, Shota took extensive measures to make the girl comfortable and free of any pressure until she rationally seemed up for it. If she did not want to do something, that would be the end of it. Did he know this tactic could bite him in the ass later on? Yes. But her stability and happiness were of the highest priority. So, he never pushed, never insisted, nothing of encouragements or even promise of reward. He just let her do as she pleased, so long as she was safe, within reason. He waited, knowing she would come to him when her heart allowed; and she had, one night, in the spring, for the cookies on the top cabinet shelf. The next day, he had decided to gently confront the girl about her hygiene. She had not left the house at all, but it was important for her to learn. Whatever those bastards did to her lingered evident in her lack of consideration of her appearance or fragrance. The process proved simpler than he had thought. When he had started the water, she'd sat patiently on the toilet lid and lifted her shirt over her head in a bit of a struggle until he noticed and came to her aid. When she got situated, Shota began to leave when she called for him to help her, admitting too that she wished not to be alone. He had thought it irrational to tell her no.

But that was then, and this was now—and now, she accepted him as her father and she his daughter. His word, his patient, empathetic word, was law. Father first, playmate second. But an upside to being a father, he decided, was he always had someone who expected him home, who needed him every day, who would not leave or hurt him. He had not been in love since high school, but he had fallen in love the moment Eri reached for his hand from her hospital bed.

Setting Eri's tiny body into the warm water, Shota gently poured the bubble-water over her head, blocking the stream from her eyes with a cupped hand. "We'll have to move a bit faster tonight since you wanted to be difficult earlier," Shota lightly scolded, playfully pulling Eri's nose. The girl laughed and pawed helplessly at his hand. "Man. Did you really have to run through all that crap outside?" Shota let go of her nose and took the floating sponge in the eye of scented bubbles, submerging it quickly.

"But I like playing in the crap…"

"Eri, please."

"But you said it…"

He scrubbed her arms and back with one hand while tugging a comb through the knots in her long, white hair. "Well, I shouldn't have. I make mistakes, too."

"_Ow_!" Eri yelped when he combed at the nape of her neck.

"Sorry, sorry." Shota worked out the knotted-up hair with precise fingers. "I told you I'm going fast. You're late for bed." He gripped her hair in the middle of the length and combed out the ends first. "Better?" Eri nodded slowly, slapping the bubble-clumps into the cloudy water.

That night, the two fell asleep as Shota towel-dried Eri's hair on the bed, after she was dressed in a cotton nightgown, arms and legs cool with aloe gel, moisturized with creamy shea butter lotion, down to her pink-painted fingers and toes. Eri snuggled closely in his arms, a tiny arm thrown over his neck; Shota curled around her little body, forming a cocoon of protection around the angel, one hand on her head, one around her back. Crickets' songs kept their dreams peaceful and their slumber undisturbed until birds harmonized with the rising sun.


	3. Chapter 3 - Un-same

**Chapter 03 Un-same**

"...got that, got milk and apples and coffee and bread, so now all that's left from here is... Crap, did I really forget to do that? Ugh... Wait... Baby, you wanted cookies, right? You liked the ones with that stupid puppy on it? After that, we're off to the hardware store for—"

"Daddy?"

"Yes, sweetheart?" Shota asked, not taking his eyes off the list on his phone.

"You're talking to yourself again. Are you nervous?"

"No, sweetheart. Daddy's just, uh...making sure he has everything."

Eri tugged on the pocket of his jeans twice. "Are we almost done?"

"Almost done," Shota affirmed. "I need to go to the hardware store after this."

"Hard, where?"

"_Hardware_, sweetheart."

"Oh, hardware."

"Mm-hm." The pro-hero squinted at the screen, scrolled once, then squinted again. "Hm... Maybe I should run by tomorrow instead... I still need to drop off all that junk at the main office."

Eri gripped his shirt with both hands and pulled with all her might. "Come on, then! We'll be done faster if you move your legs, Daddy!" Hearing his groan of disapproval and seeing that he had only moved a single step, the girl pouted and ran around to push his back. "Come on!"

"Sweetheart, what did we say happens when you push Daddy?" Eri made a laborious noise as she continued to unsuccessfully shove at her father's back. Shota ran through the phone-checklist, tapping the boxes to cross out items and tasks. "He's only gonna end up falling on top of you. Do you want to get smashed under Daddy's fat?"

"I don't care! This is boring!" Eri stomped her foot, giving up for about a split second before trying again.

"We'll be done before you know it, now give me a second."

"Let's GOOOOOO!"

Shota groaned. "Eri, stop throwing a fit."

"Can we _please_ go?" Eri insisted, hopping up and down twice for emphasis.

Shota scowled at his phone, but he sensed people staring and deepened his voice in warning. "Young lady, I said stop it. I'm busy."

"But I'm not doing anything," Eri complained, gripping his shirt again and leaning back on her heels.

"One."

"But…"

"Two."

"Daddy—"

"Two and a _half_," Shota said, sternly, finally turning to her. "Playing with fire, missy." She, taking immediate note of the seriousness in her father's face, stuck out her bottom lip and pulled at her skirt in defeat. "Be patient. We'll be home soon." When he went back to his phone, Eri huffed and crossed her arms, drawing her eyebrows down the same way Shota would when displeased. Shota eyed her from his phone and flashed an amused grin, patting the head of his spoiled little princess.

**\- 2 months ago -**

"I'll take her," Shota said, suddenly. His voice echoed the conference room, he had not realized until he gathered the stares of his colleagues that he was standing, and his hands were compressed into quivering balls, palms moist and near-freezing. He swallowed a thick lump in his throat and willed his voice to sound sure and confident. "I— Uh... Um..." He dropped his eyes, the words blocked by nerves, or passion, in his chest, stubborn and hesitant like a beaten animal, but he could not dismiss them now. "I w-ill...take Eri." He breathed to gather his composure, to force the villain of his life back into its cage. "It would be illogical to leave her without a guardian."

"I love it! Eraserhead: pro-hero, teacher, lady-killer, and now…_daddy_!" Mic said, peppering each title with his own flair and exaggerated movements. He had only known Shota since high school, but he had seen enough of his friend's struggle to know when enough was enough. He had had enough of people staring at Shota like he was challenged in some way. Yes, Mic knew no one, really, in the room would say anything, but he had always been protective of his friend like a brother. "I think that is a great idea, as long as I can be her favorite uncle!"

"You're being childish," Shota said, and turned back to the rest of the room. "While it may be irrational for a pro-hero to adopt a child, it is more irrational, and frankly, a tad disquieting, to j—...to just let her be by herself at such a young age. And I feel—" He paused. His word choice shocked the other teachers, Principal Nezu, and himself. He _felt_? He had not said such words since Tsubasa. He...was speechless, but he had to say something. "I feel th—...that I must do something. Strangely, uh, it seems to me that that is a, uh...a valid statement."

"For a man so driven by logic," Cementoss teased, "you sure are putting your heart into this. Did this girl pique your infamous curiosity?"

"It's just a gut feeling, but it's been eating at me since we brought her to the hospital." Shota frowned, clenching his fists. "And...somehow...I don't know what it was, really; but...logic, facts..." He sighed, as if defeated. "Screw 'em. I know when someone needs help." To add to his statements protruding anything with clear sense, he said, "I know when I should be the one to help. Call it what you want, but it occurred to me just now that maybe she...belongs with me." Stronger, he affirmed, "I am ready to be a father. Her father."

"Get a load of this. I've heard enough." Vlad King uncrossed his arms and stood up. "Eraser— No, to hell with you." Shota, shifting his weight to one side, raised his eyebrows slowly, preparing. After being routinely ankle-knocked by his neighbor's snotty granddaughter's tricycle the morning of, he had minimal patience for nonsense, less so than usual. "Principal Nezu, this girl's Quirk has potential to be a weapon of not only mass destruction, but a weapon that can reawaken an enemy of the past."

Shota narrowed his gaze at the other man, calm, but warning. "Yes, Eri's Quirk may have the capability to revive a lost power, but we are still uncertain. If she's to be put in my care, I'll make sure she exercises her ability safely and responsibly. I'll take great care of her. Teach her, so that she will be able to control it."

"Oh, brilliant. Like how you're 'training' Katsuki Bakugo, keeping him close in your 'care'?"

"Leave my student out of this discussion. I'd hate to bring up your bush-league class—"

"You can hardly keep him or Izuku Midoriya from causing disarray on and off campus! Are you really training heroes or mindless weapons?"

"What about yourself, hm? Are you _actually_ training your students or are you simply forcing your petty grudge onto them and calling it guidance?"

"And what about you, who sleeps during homeroom every morning?! Your class is full of opportunists. They'll dry out in the real world!"

Shota tossed his hands in the air to disengage. "Vlad, honestly, we're not going to get anywhere if all we do is denigrate each other. Let's leave the kids out of it."

"You dodge the real problem at hand: your incompetence as a teacher!" the Class 1-B teacher roared.

"—My involvement aside, Eri wouldn't even think about turning to darkness. She's already lived through that grim. But more so, it's not in her nature." Shota's eye twitched as he slowly turned to Vlad with irises resembling hell in the dark taupe. "Nor is it in any of my students' nature."

"Nor mine to stand for giving a child to a man who is notorious for expelling kids that displease him," Vlad argued. Shota opened his mouth to— "Surely, a scoundrel like you would agree that to be illogical."

Shota stared at him for an extra moment, eyes wide with stunned anger. "Oh, it's like that? Wh—"

"What if," Vlad paused to make sure Shota did, "Eri lies to you one day or refuses to finish her dinner?"

"Are y-you sugges— _suggesting_..."—he needed a short breath—"that I c-an't handle—"

"Will you cast her out, as you did those other one-sixty kids?"

"St—... _Damn it_! D'you want me to answer or d'you just want to hear yourself talk?"

"—Of course you would, because that is in your nature."

"Wh—" Shota strained. He, realizing he had been holding his breath, drew a quick inhale, but it was not enough. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Nezu holding his paw out, and some ways away, All Might half-risen in his chair, murmuring if they should let the two homeroom teachers keep going. "Wh—..._Wha_—"

"Wh—? What am I getting at?" Vlad mimicked. Shota squinted, slowly shutting his mouth, clenching his jaw as his cheeks and ears burned.

"Come on, Vlad King." Snipe sighed, shaking his head in secondhand embarrassment from the flustered/youngest pro in the room.

"Why am I hounding you down? Because I know I'm right." Vlad, feeling quite victorious, smirked at his rival, whose face turned a fuming, humiliated, and, if possible, deeper crimson. Regardless, Shota chose to say nothing. He could not thrust his words out, but he was determined to keep his face straight. "Don't get lost in a tizzy now. I'm not trying to get on you. But come on, Eraser... As riled up as you can get, you make it too easy."

Mic waved his hand dismissively at Vlad. "Dude, what's your malfunction? I don't think we want to revisit your 'little Vlad' incident in front of your homeroom class last month, do we?" Vlad frowned and scoffed. Mic nudged Shota in support. "Quit prodding at things that don't matter. Eraser's got to cool his head, sure, but he got this whole thing in the bag!"

"No. He doesn't." Vlad rubbed his neck. "He _thinks_ he does. But he needs to realize this isn't a game. It's a child."

"Well, not when you call her an _It_, man..."

Shota finally continued, "Look, I mean no disrespect, but I don't see you stepping up. But then I remember…"

"You're nowhere near ready for fatherhood, Eraser. Honestly."

"—you're notoriously selfish—"

"—more concerned with dodging the media—"

"—obsessed with your legacy—"

"—couldn't even repel _one_ Nomu!"

"—and you disregard what needs to be done for what will benefit _you_, and _only_ you, in the end!"

"You're a child."

"And you're a coward."

"Don't you even try to call me a coward. Not with your…emotional sensitivities."

"I'm sorry, I meant _conniving_ _bitch_. Leave my health out of this."

Snipe held up his hand. "I'll stop you there, youngster. I agree it is foolish to leave the girl to fend for herself. I also see that you bring up points that align with my observations—both about the girl and Vlad King. I trust your judgment and believe Eri would benefit from such meticulous watch as yours."

"Yes," said Cementoss from the far end of the table beside Power Loader and Midnight. "A trend, it seems. Mr. Aizawa's methods may be unorthodox—at times, his methods border non compos mentis—but his judgment bypasses many of ours. I don't agree that this fragile child should be placed in his care, but in the classroom, he knows what he's doing."

Shota sighed, relieved to have finally gotten someone else's answer, but he did not expect the meeting to come to an end. "Thank you for your input."

"No," Vlad hissed, never looking away from Shota. "What's really foolish is you allow your emotions to suddenly persuade you to act, and that makes you unpredictable and reckless."

"Whoa, there. I said I meant no disrespect." Shota said, holding his hands up, but sporting his own version of a demeaning smirk. "Temper temper."

"Shota," Ryo reprimanded, through growls. "Passive-aggressiveness is not the answer. Nor are cruel insults or insensitivity, Sekijiro."

"Mr. Vice Principal, with all due respect, cut the therapeutic crap right now before I become aggressive-aggressive," Shota snapped.

Vlad gritted his teeth as he spat to the other faculty, "Eraserhead couldn't hold his own at the U.S.J., and he intends to provide security to this child?!"

Shota's face cleared of the mock-grin, and let irritation darken his brow. "That's rich coming from you, the only one on the staff who hid under your desk when the campus was notified—at _fucking_ last!"

Ryo barked. "_Aizawa_!"

Shota held out a hand to him, dismissively. "Think: how many kids suffered because you're foolish and ruinous?! We could've lost Thirteen!" Vlad's eyes enlarged in momentary shock, but Shota's grimace only grew more merciless. "Pitiful. How _dare_ you."

"Guys, come on." Thirteen held up her hands. "Yamada just said to cool off."

Midnight wailed, "_Oh_! All this rushing testosterone's making me faint...!"

Power Loader sighed. "Maybe we should we take a break to cool off…"

"You accumulate injuries, you accumulate abductions in your homeroom class, based on my speculation," Vlad squabbled, "and yet you think this child needs you?! Utter nonsense from an unfit, senseless man!"

Shota squinted. "Bend over. I'll show you where my sense fits."

Ryo growled. "_Shota_! Boy, have you lost your mind—"

"_Ooooohhh_!" Mic shouted triumphantly.

"Gentlemen—" Nezu attempted, consoling Ryo as the dog-man barked and snapped uncontrollably at his former student. Shota chanced only a short glance at his former homeroom teacher, and was sure to avert his attention back on Vlad before he could get an earful.

"Watch your mouth, boy," Vlad said, his ruthless attention only on the opposing homeroom teacher.

"Watch yours," Shota replied, simply.

"Don't—"

"—Don't modulate your argument to insults and expect my silence," Shota returned, keeping his glare twice as penetrating.

"Just a small jab, you frail bastard. Can't take it?" Vlad smirked. He, and the other teachers who went to school with Shota knew of his upbringing, of his parents' indecision and failure. 'Bastard' hit too close to home.

With grimness in his eyes, Shota warned, "Call me bastard one more time."

"I hate to bring up your past. But it is worth bringing up when you are trying to raise a child with that temper of yours." Vlad glanced down at a file that he had not referred to until now. "I hate to be so forward, but with the school's records of mysterious bruises upon your body and disciplinary issues during your youth—"

"That is none of your concern," Shota resisted.

"Please. Do you truly believe you would be up for this task, emotionally? To what extent would you show Eri discipline? And if you're one day too enraged to even function—"

"Sh-shut up."

"I'm only concerned for your mental state. And for hers."

"I w-would never hurt her—"

"So you would think. But _rationally_, with your family history…"

"My family history will not interfere with how I treat this girl."

"WAKE UP, Shota!" Vlad threw the crumpled-up paper ball at his opposing homeroom teacher. It bounced off Shota's brow and landed on the floor.

"Hey, hey! Come on!" All Might stood as Shota, blaring eyes activated, ripped his capture scarf from his neck as his hair shot straight up. The taller man snatched his colleague's shoulder to stop, and calm, him. "Vlad, enough—"

"—Or will you only end up further damaging her psyche?!" Vlad King challenged, being shoved back by Snipe.

"—break my foot up your _arse_!" Shota barked over all the noise, fighting All Might's hold.

Present Mic came to stand between them, facing his best friend. "Shota! Hey," he said, as calmly as he could. He waved his arms until Shota looked down at him (as all his thrashing caused All Might to lift him off the ground by Shota's underarms). "Hey, man. Mellow! Yes? Mellow down, bruh." But Present Mic was the only one who 'mellowed down.'

Shota, too blinded by anger, ignored him and looked over his hair to Vlad King, who was being 'mellowed down' by a lecture from Thirteen. The two rival homeroom teachers scowled at each other. When that 1-B bastard muttered something under his breath, Shota gave a violent jerk, freeing himself temporary before All Might re-snatched him around the waist. "A little louder, you damn punk!"

Ryo snapped, "Can you both act your age?!"

All Might staggered a tad before reinforcing his grip, taking all the savage anger in the form of mindless kicking and wriggling. "A-Aizawa…!" Never in the years he had known Shota Aizawa/Eraserhead had he seen such fury rise from him. He had no idea such violent measures of rage were contained inside such a simple man. Shota tried to kick off All Might's leg to get to Vlad King, but All Might inflated and brought his muscular arm across the Erasing Hero's chest. "Now, now, young Aizawa!"

"I said, you're a sorry excuse for a teacher and pro-hero!" Vlad King announced, fighting Snipe and Power Loader's pushes a little.

Shota gave another attempt to rip himself free. "Come over here and say that!"

But All Might tightened his grip even more, enduring the curses and glares that came along the wrestling. But still keeping his smile wide and bright, All Might said to himself, "Scary…!"

Nezu repeated, calmly, "Gentlemen—"

"Stop!" Recovery Girl shrieked, waving her cane at the two homeroom teachers. "Stop all of this! You both are acting like children—"

"I'm going to say this _once_!" Silence. Shota paused for a moment, leering darkly, blood-thirsty at Vlad. Midnight on the other side of the long table could see he was shaking. A volcano erupting inside a human body. But then, he took a long, slow, calming breath and the trembling stopped. "My home life growing up wasn't...ideal, sure. B-but I've made it my goal to not end up like that man...that I would protect those who are harmed at the hands of relentless people like that." Turning his crimson eyes on the rest of the room, he continued, "That's why I became a pro. I would never, _ever_ hurt Eri."

"Aizawa," All Might said, worriedly.

"That is all I have to say," Shota said, closing his eyes as his hair fell to his shoulders and over his face.

"Until it's too late," the opposing pro-hero remarked just as Shota reached for his eye drops.

After a glaring moment, Shota said brusquely, "You fucking douche-canoe—"

"_Hey_!" Ryo barked, shooting to stand, holding his hands out at the two bitching adults. "_Shota_, knock it off! Sekijiro, contain yourself! You're supposed to be adults, damn it!"

"You expect me to take this crap?!" Shota turned on him. "Screw you, Hound!"

"Pull yourself together _now_, boy! I won't ask again!"

"I'm _perfectly _calm! _He_—"

"That's an order!" Ryo collapsed under waves of snarls and barks, as Shota, if possible, flushed to a color deeper than crimson, shutting his mouth as told.

All Might, sensing Nezu's concern by his _oh-dear_, kept his grip on Shota's body firm. "Hey, Aizawa?" But Shota, after being stupefied by continuous embarrassment and anger, immediately turned to him like a threatened animal. So, All Might put him down on his feet and held his hands up. "Son—"

"_Don't_ call me son," Shota shot back at the now-deflated man with eyes that held more than situational irritation. "You of all people should know. That sudden, irrational...calling, telling you to do something because you _feel_ you can make a difference."

Snipe sighed, rubbing his temple. "We're straying from the topic."

"I agree," said Nezu, patiently. "Let's leave personal grudges and the violence that comes along with them _out _of this discussion, yes?"

"Yes, sir. I apologize." As Shota was already standing, he swallowed his pride and bowed to the rat-hybrid, to the entire room. "Point is: I know I have to do something for Eri, and with your approval, I would like to take her in as my own." He, now upright with his hands on the table, looked to the principal, relieving his eyes of anything besides focus. The words flowed like a breeze unto Nezu's sensitive ears, and he hummed at the confidence in Shota's voice, devoid of stutter or nervous halt. "With all due respect, sir, it doesn't add up to just say she's in U.A.'s care and leave it at that. Eri deserves more...much more, than that. I can give it to her, and if I fall short, I will keep trying and trying until I get it right. I have never been so sure of something before."

"You always struck me as a man of limited nurturing experience," Ectoplasm said, flatly. "If I can be completely truthful with you, Aizawa."

"This would be a waste of time if you weren't," Shota agreed, still cooling his head as Vlad snorted. His face was still pinched with hues of pink from all the thrashing around and raging.

"There is no doubt you care for your students and Ms. Eri. But I fear, with your teaching methods—I'm sorry to say—your family history, and her background, you may not be the best person to attend to such a delicate girl. I apologize. I agree, begrudgingly, with Vlad."

Thirteen raised to stand. "I feel similarly, but simultaneously, I have worked alongside Eraser for a while now. While I'm cautious to say, considering his pro-hero status and, well, his tendency to be the strictest man on campus, I do believe Eri would benefit from his hospitality. I witnessed how he cared for her during her hospital stay and how he shows his students efficient guidance in his own way, and I have seen another side to this man that I would have never guessed existed before then. I'm with Eraser."

"Yeah, we're forgetting about Aizawa's soft side. Trash-talk any of his 1-A brats and see how long it takes him to pop off at ya," added Snipe, who stood. "You tell me that ain't a man with nurturing skills of some sort. Mr. Hot-Mess has my vote."

Cementoss shook his head. "I apologize, but I had a lengthy discussion about this with Vlad King earlier in the week. I stand with him. Eri would be better suited in another person's care. Someone more...approachable." He hummed, approving of his own decision. "No hard feelings, Eraserhead."

Mic nearly leapt from his seat and stood on the table-top. "YO! I'M STANDING WITH HOME-BOY!" He tossed an arm around Shota, who groaned. "I have _never_ seen this man get so passionate about any sort of company, except for his cats."

Shota muttered, "Don't be an ass—"

"This man got a heart of gold, yo. He reads between all the lines and smells _all_ the roses before you can even count them! Let the guy care for the baby girl!"

"Not once have Aizawa and I agreed on a single topic," All Might stated, now on his feet. "But today, that just changed. Aizawa has my vote. I've seen them interact many times. It's true that Eri seems to have a strong relationship with Izuku Midoriya and Mirio Togata, but she needs guidance. Parenting. Kindness, structure, a chance to grow, not just two cases of hero worship." The retired hero met the eyes of his long-time foil and nodded at the younger man. "She needs a different kind of hero; in my opinion, a _real_ hero. A father." Shota watched All Might in silence, stunned, though his expression was blank. "Aizawa, she needs you—someone who can teach her, support her, give her warmth." To the rest of the room, the former pro-hero finalized, "And he...needs her, too. They would do well together."

The entire room, everyone except for All Might himself knowing of Shota's disdain, turned to the Erasure Hero as if expecting him to lash out at the older man. But to their surprise, Shota simply tightened his scowl and looked away. "I appreciate your support."

Awkwardly switching his eyes between the two, Power Loader said, "All Might, you sure we're talking about the _same _Shota Aizawa, a.k.a. Eraserhead the Erasing Hero? Hyper-logical Oscar the Grouch?" A brief chuckling filled the room as to relieve the space of tenseness and thickness that invaded the air. "Look, guys, I haven't said anything since the meeting began. But as someone who has suffered many of Eraserhead's 'logical deceptions' in the past, I don't believe Eri will thrive in such a confusing, discombobulated environment. I'm with Vlad. Sorry, All Might, Eraser."

"I agree." Midnight sat, pointing at Shota with her flogger. "I'm sorry, Aizawa. With your current standing and well-being, I don't think you can manage another injured soul." Her tongue ran along her lips. "And I don't know if I can bear having another girl call him 'Daddy'." Shota gave her a (subtle) clenched expression, implying that she shut it right then and there. To that, she hummed and smirked impishly at him.

Hound Dog, who had long been standing, said, "Shota is one of our most capable teachers. He expels those who are terribly lacking, that are too far gone for recovery. By shielding the substandard students from the harsh reality of heroism, he is kind. By upholding the morals of the school and the very heroic way of life, he is nurturing. Knowledgeable. I am being completely unbiased when I say: he has my sincere vote. I apologize, Sekijiro."

"With my vote, it has been decided," said Nezu. Shota, as well as the other teaching staff members, locked their attention on the principal. "The school releases young Eri into Aizawa's custody."

"Thank you," Shota bowed to the entire room, "for your consideration." Nods, grunts, and, from Vlad, groans were his response, and everyone soon sat down.

"But...there is still something troubling me," mentioned Midnight once every staff member was situated. "If I can speak freely, Principal Nezu."

"Ah, yes," Shota said, almost breathlessly. Heads turned in question to him, so he clarified, "The fuckening... It continues."

"Mr. Aizawa, please," Nezu lightly admonished. "Midnight, continue."

Midnight chuckled before clearing her throat. "If Shota is to take in a child, would his current income be enough to support the two of them?"

Shota cocked an eyebrow. "Excuse me. My finances are none of your concern."

"Well, you're a big boy. You must be worried about it, too." She rested her chin in her hands, eyes trailing along his scowling face. "You're only a homeroom teacher, and as an underground hero, your salary is only so much."

"You're telling me things I already know."

"Don't you think there's a problem? Sure, you're a minimalist. But with a child..."

"Well, I've thought it through," Shota said. "More so, I made sure I had my numbers right and am monetarily stable in the event that I would be adopting Eri. So, whatever else you're getting at, spit it out."

"Spit it out, you say? How rude! A true lady never spits anything out."

"You are absolutely insufferable. Get to the point."

"—God, such aggression!" Midnight gasped, tossing her head back. "My main concern is that you will run yourself dry of money. Not to mention you're diving into the life of a school-age child, not a newborn. She won't be blind to these struggles. It might not work out well for you, Shota."

"That won't happen. Even if Eri requires more money than I'd envisioned, I have enough. I made sure of it."

"And he's my personal scribe when I need him," Ryo said, holding up his large paws. "And while we're on the writing topic, he still receives royalties from his time as a novelist."

Shota came in, "Point is, I've considered your concerns. My finances are orderly. I've also considered taking up more classes to support the two of us, as a triple-backup plan."

"Considered, yes. But did the notoriously slothful Aizawa actually do that?"

"You're the one who got me this job in the first place; you think I'm just gonna shit all over you and all over myself and Eri?"

"For someone who's known you, personally, for years now, I know you can be selfish and unmotivated. So, did you go through with it or not?"

"I don't care for your tone. What do you think?"

"And I didn't care for your blatant lack of enthusiasm last night, but here we are." Shota caught himself gawking and shut his mouth, daring her to continue with hell-to-come in his eyes. Midnight hummed, her bright eyes caressing down his slumped, trim frame. "As a man who claims to never have been satisfied, can you guarantee you will have the patience to nurse a wounded soul? You are a man of great potential, but be honest now."

"You'll find I am _very_ patient, Midnight, and resourceful, since you obviously haven't taken note of that yet," Shota said, dully. "I've been poor and homeless before. I'm not letting that happen again."

"Now, now. That's enough bickering for today, Mr. Aizawa," Principal Nezu said, gently.

Shota nodded slowly. "I'm sorry, sir. These people are vultures when they want to be."

Recovery Girl, who quietly voted for Eri's' placement in Shota's care, gentle face furrowed into an unfit scowl. "Young man, I gave you my vote! So, watch your mouth!"

"It is important that we all, as teachers and faculty, and more so caretakers, exhibit professionalism and, more than anything, kindness and good citizenship." Mixes of _yes, sir_'s and _understood_'s filled the room, and the principal chuckled. "We have reached a decision, brought forth by Mr. Aizawa himself, to release Eri into his custody." Nezu put his paws together, standing. "I trust and support him. Do find it in yourselves to do the same. Mr. Aizawa."

"Sir?" Shota stood.

"Best of luck." The rat-dog-bear hybrid started towards the door. "I personally think you and Ms. Eri will be a great pair."

Shota bowed. "Thank you, sir." Sending a smug sneer and a middle finger Vlad's way once the principal left, he trolled, "You owe me a tequila, Vlad. And a heartfelt apology, too, to me and Eri." At the final request, he pointed at the ground twice with that same degrading finger.

Mic erupted in cheers and flailing limbs, "Oooooh! Tell me somethin', my man: did ya bring the THUNDER?!"

"Oh, I brought the _thunder_, bruh!" Shota mocked Mic's speech pattern, allowing himself to give a genuine smile when his friend playfully pushed at him.

Vlad growled, narrowing his eyes like a calculating beast forced from its territory. "Screw you, Aizawa. Take the girl home before I strangle you in front of her."

"Hold me tight, dear." Now composed, but still terribly smug, Shota winked at his opposer. As Vlad huffed to the far exit, Shota made for the nearest exit, shoving his hands into his pockets to hide how viciously they trembled. Mentally chiding himself for tripping and smashing into his words, he ran a hand through his hair, through the long fringes, for a moment's calming breath. He marveled at his victory, unsure how else he pulled it off than the principal and a select few's faith in his newfound gut feeling.

"Good luck, Eraser!" Thirteen called from the other end of the hall.

Midnight followed, "Yeah, tell me if you need a babysitter!"

"No, thanks," was his answer.

Mic lit up the space without using his Quirk, "GIRL, YA KNOW YA BOY'S FIRST DIBS ON BABYSITTIN' THE NEW BABY-ZAWA!"

Shota sighed, rubbing his neck first, then dragging his hand down his face in utter annoyance. "Well...that could have gone better," he muttered under the patter of his footsteps and the echoes of the other teachers. "Whatever."

Ryo stood behind the next corner, eyes flaring with contained anger. "Shota."

Already knowing he was there, but choosing not to react to him much, Shota kept his sluggish pace with the same sluggish gaze of his eye. "Sir."

"_Shota_."

Shota cocked an eyebrow at him, stopping where he was. "Sir?" The dog-man gave him a certain look that made him sigh. "Ah, crap. Don't say it—"

"A word."

"No. I don't have time for this."

"Then we better make it fast." Ryo turned and started unlocking the nearby classroom. "Follow."

"Goddamn it." The younger pro-hero ducked his head in dreadful unease, sluggishly scanning the halls to make sure no one was going to see what was about to go down. _I wonder if it's too late to fake a tutoring session with one of the kids_, he thought.

This consideration dissolved when the vice principal/guidance counselor/one of the two who can chastise without receiving the full extent of an Aizawa-exclusive glower barked, "AIZAWA!"

"_All right_!" Shota, through his irritation, stifled a wince and advanced to the dog-man. "All right." Ryo opened the door and went inside, indicating Shota should follow—which he wisely did, shutting the door behind him. "Lecture time already, huh?"

"Is this the part when you try to talk your way out of it?"

"Quit talking to me like I'm still a kid. I'm in my twenties."

"Then why do you look like you're about to bolt out the door like you used to?"

"I'm not. That'd be irrational, don't you think—"

"Relax. Have a seat." Ryo leaned on the teacher's desk, gesturing at the desk in front of him before crossing his arms.

Shota eyed the desk, but remained where he stood. "I'd prefer to stand." If he could keep what was left of his wounded pride, as he was stutter-shamed and deemed an unreliable mentor before the staff, only to then be dragged off to privacy like a child, he would cling onto that small, fiery pride if it killed him. Shota asked, respectfully, "What's this about, sir?" Ryo hummed, a guttural sound that manifested deep in his chest where growls and barks usually started. "Sir?" Raising his eyebrows, Shota's palms began to sweat as he picked at the left one.

Considering that Shota had always been a man of body language over countenance, more so, the vice principal took note of this. "I must warn you—"

"Are you going to tell me you're worried about my income, too, because I'm fine. I—"

The dog-man halted him with a paw-hand. "Shh." The younger pro let his mouth snap shut, casting his eyes down for a bit before looking back up at the older hero. A minute passed before Ryo said, "You're not sleeping well again, eh?"

Shota rolled his eyes, subtly. "When have I ever slept well? Honestly?"

"Okay, okay. I'm just going to come out with it." Ryo noticed the younger hero's shoulders hike up in a tense. "Are you sleeping with Midnight?"

A pause, a quiet that made the birds outside chirp top-volume as the two stared (awkwardly) at each other, neither one breaking the silence or the fixed gaze. The homeroom teacher chuckled in feigned disbelief that the vice principal would even ask that. "_No_," he said, a slight crack in his voice. He cleared his voice and repeated in a deeper tone. "No. That'd be the height of irrationality."

Ryo sighed. "Look, I just wanted to ask. But that's not why I called you in here."

"I'm fine," Shota said, sounding rehearsed. "Now, what do you actually need?"

"Right to it, then," Ryo noted. "You created quite a stir, son."

"Don't call me son."

"Always so stubborn… Just listen—"

"—That's _your _field of expertise, Sensei." Shota leaned against the wall by the door, folding his arms, but hiked up a shoulder as he explained, "Look, I wasn't intending on going at it with Vlad, all right?"

"Really? 'Cause you sure were fast to snap back."

"He started it. I finished it—"

"No!"

"—_No_? What'd you expect me to just take all the crap he was spewing at me?"

"Principal Nezu ended the meeting. All was set until _you_ decided to trade more words with Sekijiro afterwards!" The Erasing Hero's posture slumped, and he averted his eyes to the whiteboard—Ryo had scolded him about his run-ins with Vlad since high school. "You're a capable man, an excellent teacher and hero, and you know I have confidence in your next undertaking, but you _must_ learn to keep that tongue of yours in your head! You don't have to respond to everything Sekijiro says!"

"Sir—"

"—You aggravate our fellow staff members with your bluntness and complacent attitude! Why? Because you think it's 'logical' to be rude?!"

"Rude? He—"

"No one deserves that! Do you think Vlad really deserved to be called a whatever-canoe?"

"He deserved more."

"He deserves to be treated with respect, as you do!"

"I disagree."

"Shota."

"You're being biased."

"_Shota_."

"You asked me a question; there's my answer! Just because you didn't like it doesn't change anything!" Shota growled. "You demonize me and show no regard for the many times he crossed the line. He talks about my life and you expect me to sit back and take it?! Do you _hear_ yourself?!"

"No, I'm not saying you should be his verbal punching bag. I'm saying you have to learn when to hold your tongue! You're going to keep meeting trouble unless you do that! Learn to walk away! How many times have I told you that?!"

"Walk away my ass! I've done that my whole life! The hell do you think you're talking to?! You're the one who taught me to actually stand up for—" Shota closed his eyes. "Hold on. Let me rephrase that." He took a breath before continuing with venom in his deliverance. "How many times has Vlad tried to lay me out in front of everyone and I'd said _NOTHING_?!"

"You solved NOTHING!"

"Wow."

"You further enraged him, and quite frankly, you pissed me off! Boy, I have rooted for you, I've made excuses for your remarks and scoffs since you came to this school!" Shota closed his eyes to regain calmness and nodded to show he was actively listening to the scolding. "But you're making me, and All Might, actually, look like damn fools! You made sure of that! Are you satisfied now?!" Ryo nearly choked on an occupant growl that escaped his throat. He composed himself before a howl forced its way out. "Are you?"

"Am I what? Gonna bend over and kiss your asses?!"

"Quit being sarcastic! Can't you tell when people are trying to help you?!"

"I d—... I never asked for you to do that! Not you _OR_ All Might!" Shota thundered. "I'm a grown man! I don't need to be defended or excused or rooted for! I don't need anything!"

"Maybe if you opened your eyes…"

"_Maybe_ instead of babysitting me, you should exert that same energy into training Vlad!"

Ryo roared back, "Mind your mouth, boy! This is a school of repute, not this disgraceful, _childish_, idiotic bitching you so eagerly resort to!"

"Okay, l-let me spell it out for you: I would not have acted so impulsively i-f I did not, in ANY way, feel insulted or like my dignity was being stepped on by a man of ill intention! You really th-think...he gives two _shits_ about Eri?! He's had it out for me since—"

"Quit pointing fingers, Shota. You have a terrible habit of not helping yourself whenever we have these discussions."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I thought we were having a bully, old time."

"Your pride or your sarcasm is going to be the death of us all."

"Are you k—...y-ou kidding me? How ca— _How_— _SHIT_!" Shota kicked over the recycle bin by the door before turning back on his former teacher. "Damn it! How c-an you—"

Ryo put his hand up slowly. "Enough. Calmly now. Slow down." Shota glared expectantly at him, composing himself with a few breaths while waiting for an answer. It took another moment until he impatiently raised his eyebrows and threw his hands out to force the older man to finally speak. "Vlad will be dealt with for his disrespect, as you are being now for _your_ immaturity!" Ryo slapped the desktop for emphasis.

Shota jolted, but he never broke his glare. "Whoa. What the hell?"

"Perhaps I've been too forgiving with you."

"Oh, come on."

"I should have called you out more than I did all these years." Ryo sighed. "I screwed up. I'll give you that much. Go ahead. Put that on me."

"Sir, listen."

"Does that make you _feel_ better?"

"Kind of hard when you put it like that."

"How about we call in All Might—"

"Oh, screw off."

"—for one of your tongue-lashings."

"—I will muzzle you."

"Would that make you happy?!"

Shaking his head in irate dumbfound, Shota said, quietly, "Enough of this. I'm done." He moved to start towards the far door. "If there's one thing I definitely don't want to talk about, it's All Might."

"What, I criticize you and now you want to just walk away?"

"Actually, I have a child to take home…" Shota said, calmly (even as anger slowly found its way back over his entire being). "Five years, long hair, _huge_ eyes. Adorable thing, really. It'd be real shame IF SHE HEARD ANY OF THIS!"

A bit stunned, Ryo was quiet for a moment. Shota tightened his scowl by narrowing his eyes, then turned his back again to leave. "You're acting like a child."

"Write a bloody song."

"Don't you dare turn your back on me. We're not done yet!" After a few stumbles, Shota regained his footing, but then he froze, hand out for the door that Ryo had yanked him from. A long stillness washed over the room with neither man taking a single breath. "Look. I didn't mean—"

"Get your hand off me," Shota warned, looking at nothing but the strong paw gripping his arm. "_Now_."

"Shota—"

"GET YOUR HAND OFF ME!" In that moment, the Erasing Hero jerked away from his once-mentor, swiftly and harshly enough to wriggle free of the paw. Another stillness hit the two, with Shota holding his numbed arm, staring off into haunted space with Ryo watching him closely, recognizing that look from the former's high school career. Before long, Shota muttered, to the air, it seemed, "Don't you _fucking_ touch me." He slowly made his way back to the door, trudging along like a beaten dog, with his assaulted arm close to his body.

Ryo sighed, instantly regretting his words and actions. He was known for tough love, like the younger man before him, but they both knew when to soften their voice. The vice principal, too, understood that his subordinate had endured about an hour and a half of humiliation and exasperation. He had had enough. "Son—"

Shota whipped around, hair elevated into the air from his Quirk. "Call me son _one _more time!" His eyes penetrated like blazing magma javelins lunging through the dog-man's skull, pupils drowned in crimson. A warning. Right then, the door ripped open and a crowd of students from Class 2-B came to a rough halt when they saw the adults. Shota stared for an additional moment before turning to leave. "I'm sorry." Shutting his pestered eyes as he maneuvered through the spectating second-years, he made his way to the stairs, looking nauseous. Ryo rubbed his own eyes and cursed to himself.

"What happened in there?" a female student whispered to her peers.

Another answered, "I don't know. Were they the ones yelling?"

Shota came to the floor level's lounge to find the small girl sitting, huddled, against the wall, gazing out the window. A brisk wind dancing along the pearly hue of her hair caught his attention, but no more than the twinge of child-like wonder that gave her ruby eyes a certain sparkle. Her countenance, while innocent, possessed a kind of owlish contentment that calmed her otherwise jovial appearance; only in taking note of the shoes that were ruined by dried mud, the blisters on her palms from time on the monkey bars at the park, and the overall size of her did he remember she was a mere five years of age. "Eri," he said.

Startled, she turned to the source of the voice—towards the man who sat by her bed at the hospital, braiding her hair as she gazed aimlessly at the walls, who she had heard had been tortured at Chisaki's crony's hands, who appeared too rugged to be a true pro-hero—and shrunk into the wall, but nodded to be polite. "Mister." She held the collar of her dress to her nose, hiding timidly. "Hello again."

"Heya." Shota came slowly to her and bend down on a knee. "Look. The grown-ups were talking, and it's been decided," he caught a glimpse of the scars peeking out from her sleeves, and remembered his resolve, "you are going to be staying with me." She made a noise similar to an awe-filled _huh_, so he clarified, "I-I'm... My home is your home now. You understand what I'm saying?" She understood where she would now be sleeping every night, but she did not understand why. After all the agony Chisaki and his cronies had subjected Mr. Aizawa to, why would he want to take her in, a blood relative of those monsters? Mr. Aizawa did not seem to be someone who cowered away from threats or pain, and he was a licensed hero, but did he not care for the resemblance that was evident in the shape of her face? Shota asked, his usual, monotonous voice churning with caution, like a child asking for approval, "Is that okay?"

Smiling ever-so-slightly, she nodded. Slowly, she took his hand from his knee and, gingerly, placed it to her cheek, closing her eyes. In truth, she already felt at-home with the pro-hero—but having a place to call her own... Her eyes welled up. Shota returned with his own slight smile, swearing to himself that he would make the world safe and sound for the young girl. He would do anything to make it so.


	4. Chapter 4 - Market Scare

**Chapter 04 Market Scare**

"Two and a HALF. Playing with fire, missy," directed Shota, rising his eyebrows at the little girl to show he meant business. "Be patient. We'll be home soon." The next time he peeked at her from the screen in his face, her brows were arched in a juvenile manner and a pout found its way to her little lips. Her arms crossed as she scowled at the Cheetos bag in front of her. Shota placed a gentle hand on her head, amused, to which she made a whining sound and jerked away, insisting on being unhappy that Daddy _dared_ to scold her in front of everyone in the market. "Eri, enough."

"Mm...!" Eri shrugged her shoulders up and stomped once in her movement.

Shota raised his eyebrows at this behavior—pre-Eri, had a student given him this petulant nonsense, a firm scolding with a death-grip from his capturing scarf would be in order. But now, he locked his phone and shoved it in his pocket, a tad entertained by her pouting. "Oh, really?" He squatted down to his daughter's height, mirroring her irate moue. "And what's with that face, huh?" Onlookers passed the pair, chuckling at the exchange, whispering how cute Eri was and commending Shota's level-headedness. Eri moaned, determined to make her wrath well-known. But by the tiny dimples poking out from her cheeks, Shota anticipated the act would not last long. So, he did what Ryo said he soared at, and kept prodding, "You are _so_ mean-looking right now." He poked her stomach, where a healthy amount of squish developed from a few months of good food. He was relieved to have felt something other than malnourishment under her soft skin. "Are you mad at me now?"

"Yes," Eri peeped, trying to sound as threatening as a child's voice could manage.

"Really?"

"Yes."

"Why is that?"

"'Cause you're being MEAN!"

"I'm being mean?" Shota teased, snatching her close and tickling her sides with malicious intent. She squealed. "Then why are you laughing? I thought you were mad." Eri eventually collapsed in laughter and wriggled, thrashed, kicked, but could not will herself free of his hands. When he ended the playful torment, he smoothed out her hair, cautious of her horn. "If I let you ride in the cart, will you stop it with the face?"

"Uh-huh!" Eri agreed, lifting her arms high, a wide smile on her beaming face.

"All right, munchkin." Her father lifted her in the air at an alarming speed, slowing at the peak of his reach, and hovered her into the cart's basket as if she could leap into the sky like Asui, earning more giggles from the child. "You're so light," Shota noted...to himself, really. Even as she now appeared well-fed, she still trailed the line in terms of the average post-toddler weight. He mentally chided himself for not paying closer attention to her portions.

Eri tilted her head, two autumn-cooled hands gripping the edge of the basket. "I'm shorter than everyone else, so of course I am."

"Yeah, that's right," Shota replied slowly, a tad shocked by how rational Eri's response was for a five-year-old. He considered her past living conditions and recalled her weight plummets were nothing new to the poor child. He sighed and smoothed her hair as she bounced in the cart's basket. "Sit down. You'll fall." He quickly scanned the aisle before plucking out a bottle-pack of what looked like chocolate milk at first glance, placing it in the basket, away from the girl. "Let's try this out, 'kay?"

"What is it?" Eri asked, sitting cross-legged as told.

"It's like a, uh…vitamin drink. Should help put some meat on ya."

"It's gonna make me fat?"

Shota chuckled, pushing the cart to the next aisle, eyes elsewhere. "Yes, in a healthy way."

Eri sat on her knees. "Why?"

"So, you won't fall behind and be a twig."

"Why?"

"Because Daddy doesn't want you to be a twig."

"But why?"

He turned into the sugary treats' aisle, blew at his bangs impatiently, and glanced at her. "Because... if you make me angry, I'll just make dinner outta you," he said, winking at her before snatching up the brand of cookies she scarfed down the first week she moved in.

Eri giggled. "I won't make you angry, Daddy."

"We'll see, sweetheart." He pushed the cart to the short line leading to the cash register labeled Express Lane. He sighed for a moment before the chorus of Midland's "Drinkin' Problem" startled him when they got to the front. "Shit." Shota fumbled for his phone.

Eri said, "Oopsie," and then tilted her head to the side. "Daddy, what's a drinking problem?"

"It's something Daddy'll make sure you never have." He slapped at his pockets, then his shirt pockets, unsuccessfully locating the ringing device. "Damn it, where's my phone?"

"Oopsie again." When he looked at her, she held said device in her hands and sported a smug, taunting smirk similar to his whenever he said or did something mischievous. "You can have it if you pay the jar."

"Okay, okay." Finally retrieving the buzzing phone, he said to the cashier, "Sorry." He handed Eri two crumpled-up dollars (a five and a one) from his front pocket. "That better go where you say it's going."

"Daddy, who's 'Walking Tragedy'?" Eri asked, taking the dollar and stuffing it in the front pocket of her dress.

Shota glanced at her quickly and shook his head. "It's, uh... Grandma. Hang on." He pressed on the screen and held the device to his ear. "Mama? What's wrong?"

Eri pulled on his jeans. Shota glanced at her and held up a finger, mouthing one sec. She looked back down at the candy bar in her hand, waiting a few seconds. It had been a long while since she had savored the rich creaminess of chocolate; and she knew if she had been patient and behaved enough, Shota would gladly give it to her. She knew she would see his gentle smile—how she loved it when he smiled, more so when she was the source of that smile! But, in time, she grew testy when her father's one-sided conversation drifted into something about a one-too-many and someone called Jig. "Daddy?" She caught hold of the rim of his shirt, beseeching his attention. He looked at her, a response evident in the expression on his face, but then his eyes shot to the right in thought and he promptly turned his back again to the groceries on the conveyor belt.

"No. I—" Shota's shoulders dropped as the voice on the other end cut him off. "I'm not being cruel. I j-j'st don't want to get into that right now. I have other— _Mama_, I told you a thousand times, I have a lot on my plate—"

Eri tugged again. "Daddy."

He barely looked at her but held a hand between them in a slightly agitated fashion, crinkling his brow. "Well, when was the last time _you _went to see him?" Shota shook his head, scowling at the groceries. "I'm just saying. I've got it under control, okay?"

"Daddy!" she tried a second time. This time, his scowl became more prominent and he firmly shook his head at her. A clear warning not to revive her previous tantrum in the aisle. Frowning stubbornly, Eri stomped, catching the attention of others in the checkout line. "DADDY!"

Shota took the phone from his now-red ear and lowered to her eye level. "Eri Aizawa, I am on the _phone_," he said, rather vexed by her incessant, uncharacteristic protests. "I'm not happy with your behavior right now." He took the candy bar from his daughter and put it on the conveyor belt. "I'll buy it, but you'll only _get_ it if you behave. Understand?" Eri nodded quickly, barely listening, eyes only on the chocolate bar. "I want a verbal answer, young lady. Do you understand me? Look at me."

Eri looked at him with her full, uninterrupted attention. The moment she focused on him, though, she noticed the other adults' eyes on her, judging her for misbehaving. Her cheeks flared, even though her father had not even raised his voice at her. "Yes, Daddy," she muttered, peeking only at Shota, who had been staring at her the entire time. "I understand you."

"Thank you. Be good; get the candy. Now…_please_. Five seconds. Okay?" He stood and held the phone between his shoulder and cheek, pulling out his wallet, mouthing an apology to the teenage cashier. "Sorry. ...She's not a girlfriend." Shota froze for a moment before his face scrunched up. "Ugh, stop. Stop." He swiped his debit card and entered his PIN. "Look, I have a lot to do tonight. I'll call you back. ...I'll call you back."

"Do you want your receipt, man?" the cashier slurred. Shota nodded. "Here, man."

"Oh, no. There's a tunnel. Oh, the horror. Yes, there is. ...Here it comes. _Loveyoubye_—" Shota hung up and shoved his phone in his pocket, taking the receipt with a heavy sigh. "Sorry. Thanks." He stuffed the receipt into the two bags that fit the short grocery list. "Thank you," he said to the obsequious bagger, who bowed with a gentle smile. "Eri," he said, reaching for the bags in one hand and for her hand, only to find— "ready to go?" She was gone. Slowly, his brows creased in bemusement. "Sweetheart?" He checked behind him, to either sides, as he knew the girl sometimes took sport in dodging his gaze by ducking around him. "I'm, uh…" He met eyes with the teenager and the old man with a nervous chuckle and smile concealing immense worry. "I'm sorry. Did either of you see where my daughter went?" Both shook their heads. "Crap. Do you mind if I leave this here for a minute?"

"Sure thing, young man," said the bagger.

"Thanks, mister."

A middle-aged man in the line shouted over the heads of two elderly sisters, "Hey! Move your ass!"

Shota pointed at him immediately, "Shut up, you tw—" but then dropped his hand and his scowl. "No. I'm sorry. Excuse me." He maneuvered through the line hurriedly. "Eri?" he called, rushing from aisle-head to aisle-head. "Eri?!" He soared down the cookie aisle, all the way down to the back where dairy and meat products chilled. No little girl. Shota's heart thudded in his chest, painfully, as he aimlessly thought up every worse-case scenario. But he kept moving. When he came to the fruit stands, he paused, taking advantage of the open space to search more ground. "Eri! Goddamn it," he said under his breath. A flash of white caught his meticulous eye and he averted his attention to the shred of the parking lot through the door. He ran, harder when he saw a car approaching and his daughter take a step into the street. He reached out once the sun's faint heat hit his skin. The little girl screamed in shock when she was shoved into one of the planters by the cart-returns. Ignoring the throb in her knees and arm, she looked back to see Shota on his hands and knees on the asphalt, a hand still outstretched to her from the push. His eyes were wide, keeping his focus on the sedan's grill that halted close enough to blow his fringes from his face. Breathing heavily, staring, shaking at his reflection in the metal, he sucked in a lung full of air and shut his eyes, thankfully, dropping his head and moving to sit in another relieved huff.

"Daddy!" Eri cried. He glanced at her briefly and nodded—he was fine, but more importantly, so was she.

The driver, a mother of two terrified middle-schoolers, rushed out of the vehicle, rambling, "Oh my God! Are you okay?! I'm so, so sorry! I didn't see you! Is that a child?!"

"And is that a phone in your hand?" Shota remarked. "Seriously?"

"I'm— Jesus Christ. I can't apologize enough!" the woman panicked, hiding the phone in her back pocket.

"Had I been any slower, you'd have a hell of a lawsuit on your hands, lady."

"I'm sorry!"

"Your 'sorry' almost killed my daughter," Shota snapped, glaring at her.

Having vaguely recognized the pro-hero before him, the woman took a slow breath, never looking away from him with more than simple concern on her face. "Can I make it up to you? Please, anything?"

"Don't need anything," Shota replied, standing, keeping his voice steady. He took a firm grip to Eri's wrist when she approached him, and the girl winced a bit. But she remained with her usual doe-like expression, taking in the world, calm and innocent. Daddy would probably chide her a bit for worrying him, so she knew everything was okay.

After a few back-and-forth's, the woman went back into the car and Eri sighed, thankfully. She opened her mouth to say something quite witty when her father reeled her further to the side of the store, behind one of the building's supportive pillars for privacy. "Daddy, you came really fast! How did you—" When he kneeled down and she got a clear view of his now-scarlet face, twitching left eye, and unblinking glare that tagged her, her shoulders dropped as carefree dissipated to worrisome. The Look was her most un-favorite thing in the world. "What's wrong—"

"Zip it," he retorted, sharply, and started checking her body for injuries, dusting her skirt off. "Are you okay?"

Eri, losing her nerve, slowly answered, "Yeah."

"Then, what were you thinking?" He gripped her arms with Herculean, but painless strength. "Huh?! What were you doing out here?!" Eri flinched at his sudden raise of volume, dropping her chin to her chest. "Look at me, right now." Shota waited until a pair of watering ruby eyes met his. "Do you have any idea h—..." He swallowed before trying again. "Do you have any idea h— ..._how_ worried I was?"

Eri croaked, "I'm sorry, Da—"

"What if you were killed?! H-ow..." Shota dropped his head for a bit to say, "Shit!" Eri looked down, but he lifted her chin with his hand. "Wh— What made you think this was okay? You never go anywhere without me! You _know_ that!" The girl nodded quickly, face crinkled up with tears and, deep below sadness, fear. Daddy never got like this before. While his haunting scowl decreased a tad bit, his voice still hissed with parental fury and utter worry. He let go of her trembling elbows and said, almost in a pleading tone, "You know that."

"I just wanted to look around," Eri admitted, fumbling with her hands. "I didn't think you'd get mad if I was still close to the store."

"Well, I'm just about furious you almost got yourself killed! _That_," he pointed to the car, "is why I said to stay near me! _That_ hurts! And I don't know what I'd do if—" She bit her bottom lip, trying to will away the inevitable tears swimming in her eyes. But it only made her chin wobble. Seeing this, Shota took a few, much-needed breaths and held her elbows, gentler this time, but still firm enough. "Don't you _ever_ do that again. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, Daddy," Eri said, voice distorted by tears and hiccups. She scrubbed at her face, covering herself from the world. The crack and volume of his voice, the rage and concern in his disposition, and the disappointment swirling in his eyes weighed on her like two dozen tons of bricks on her shoulders. She hunkered down with her head between her knees.

Shota watched her, anger slowly fading into relief and more worry. He rubbed his eyes and thanked the heavens he got to her in time. When a particularly heavy sob hit her, she doubled over, unable to form words or anything short of a cry. "It's..." He sighed. Growing up, he would be told to just suck it up after getting hollered at or punished or else he would be subjected to another, harsher consequence.

But he had already gotten the point across; there was not a need to further this. She apologized, anyway. She knew.

So, he took a hesitant leap and pulled her into his arms, "Okay, c'mere. C'mere, baby." She accepted, throwing her arms around his neck and burying her wet face into his chest. "It's okay now." He stood, hoisting her with a steadying arm under her legs, gently rubbing her back. "Daddy was scared. But it's okay now. I'm happy you weren't hurt." He closed his eyes to calm his punching heart, and then he noticed how hers slammed just as hard, if not harder, than his. "Thank God you weren't hurt," he repeated for himself. Her small body jolted rhythmically with gasps and sniffles, and her grip on him lessened, so he pressed his nose to her head. "Shh... Everything's okay now."

"I'm sorry...! I didn't mean to make you mad...!" Eri whimpered, clutching his sleeve. "I'm sorry!"

"I'm not mad anymore. See?" Shota offered. But Eri was intent on hiding in his chest. So, he held her again, rubbing her back. "Okay, sweetheart. Cry it out. Go ahead." And she did wholeheartedly. "I know, I know." He swayed her gently, bending at his little soft spot's will. Mothers entering the store with their staring children gave him a sympathetic nod. But he ignored their eyes and kept his attention on the only thing that mattered at the moment. Never imagined he would be cooing a child in front of the supermarket... "I'm here."

Eri snuggled her head under his chin, rubbing her forehead to the scratchiness of his stubble, craving as much comfort as he would offer and more. "You almost got hurt...because of me...!"

"I'm fine, though. See?" The only response he received was of wordless tears. He ran his hand up and down her back more, moving further away from the market's door. "Shh, baby. I'm sorry I yelled. I wasn't trying to scare you." Deep behind his sternum, somewhere between bone and muscle, it nagged him, clouded every other thought from his mind except the one. A compulsory itch that he never anticipated, a phrase foreign to him from years of desuetude. Taking yet another leap, he forced it from his throat, unsure what would come next. "I love you." Eri's cries died down—she was listening. He moved his back-rubbing hand to join his supporting one and craned his neck back, indicating her to look at him, if she wanted. "You hear me?"

A pair of swollen eyes peeked at him through a thick screen of white locks. "You do?"

Shota moved her hair behind an ear. "Of course, I do. So, you can't scare me like that." He buried his fist under the baggy sleeve of his shirt and held it to her nose. "You're gonna drown. Blow." She obeyed, then hid her face in her father's chest in embarrassment. Shota, balancing her in one arm, pleated his wet sleeve to his elbow. "Yep, that's…" He sighed. "That's…just…"

"I know you were just worried, Daddy. I really didn't mean to scare you." Eri wiped her eyes, sniffling. "I know if I got hurt, you would fill up the Oopsie jar."

"Sweetheart, I'd fill up five in an hour." He pinched her nose before setting her down on her feet, staying at her eye level. "Don't do that again, 'kay? You really scared me, and I don't want to be scared like that again. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Daddy." Eri fidgeted with the rim of her skirt. Shota cupped her cheek and wiped away a stray tear streak with his thumb. "And I love you, too." She tugged gently on his long bangs that hung between his eyes. "Don't be scared or mad. I promise I won't run off again."

"Thank you," Shota said, kissing one of her tear-abused eyes. Eri giggled, pawing and twisting his hair. "Ready to go home?" The little girl nodded, and they held hands, as always, as they went back inside to retrieve the groceries before the peaceful drive home when she asked if he was going to cook her because of how angry she made him. With a chuckle, he said, "I ain't hungry for five-year-old today. But you're in your room when we get home."

"Aw…" 

Mid-afternoon. The small house was quiet, save for the hum of '90s R&B or whatever else Shota changed the radio to in the kitchen where he alternated between grading his 1-A essays on Romanticism and stirring up a seafood-vegetable wok. Upstairs, the child was fast asleep, balled up under a blanket atop her bed, hugging Sushi to her while Dude explored the room (with two minutes left in her benign jail-sentence, she'd fallen asleep for her routine nap; and Shota figured why wake her), the corners of her lips still a tad up-turned from the final trace of her father's warm kiss to her forehead when he had come up to release her from solitary confinement.

Shota groaned at Kirishima's use of the word 'irregardless' and scribbled out the I and the first R, then changed the untouched R to a proud uppercase. He read the essay for a tad longer before boxing what was supposed to be the uniting paragraph between Blake and Coleridge's works—Kirishima had only included that the two wrote poems that mentioned an ethereal, divine element—and adding _Expand: Why does this matter?_ next to it. He was positive he explained the idea of pantheism to the class; hell, that blockhead should have received an additional explanation at the weekly tutoring session. Leaving a red-inked 63% at the top of the paper and below it, _Don't procrastinate next time; see me if you're confused_, Shota moved the essay into the finished pile and then walked to the stove, where the warm steam from the active wok invigorated his weary hands, but further enervated his worn body with its gentle caress. He rubbed his eyes before plucking up the oyster-sauced-and-sesame-oiled-up chopsticks by the main burner, teasing the protein and vegetables with one hand, adding seasoning with the other. The promissory cubed bell peppers bounced around like super balls around the de-veined and ginger-marinated shrimp, and he soon set the flame on low to make sure Eri's dreaded fate would not sink into mush.

After clearing and setting the table, he called through the house, "Eri! Come on down! Food's ready!" He returned to the stove and began scooping his daughter's serving onto a plate, balancing the complementary bowl of white rice on his forearm. "Sweetheart! Dinner!" He put the food down on the counter and went up the stairs. "Ellie?" Her room was empty, the blanket she had been sleeping with under tossed carelessly on the ground. Shota picked it up and folded it. Dude meowed and rubbed up against his leg. "Hey, girl. You seen El-Belle?" A short giggle halted him, and when he lazily looked at the closet—a gasp. He hummed, then went back to placing the blanket atop the bed's comforter. "Well... Guess I'll just leave, then." Here were tiny footsteps behind him when he turned to leave; near-quiet movements, but to a master of stealth, he heard her breathe before she came out of the closet. Before she got too close, he spun around suddenly and lifted her onto his shoulder by her waist, saying, "Boo!" He spun her around playfully. "I got'cha!"

Hanging upside down, Eri screamed, clinging onto his shirt as the world accelerated in all directions. "How did you know?!"

"Daddy has superpowers." Shota brought her down to her feet, chuckling when she lost her balance and plopped down on her rear. "Wipe-out!"

"Total wipe-out!"

"C'mon." He lifted her back up gingerly, laughing. "Hope you're hungry."

"Yeah!" Eri cheered, darting to the stairs when her father caught her under the arms, her feet hovering over the carpet.

Shota said, "No, sweetheart. What's the rule about the stairs?"

"Fly down like a bird!" Eri cheered.

"Uh-huh. Nice try, missy," Shota warned her, tickling her as she dangled in his arms. Under the barrage of legs and hair, he further nagged in a slightly exasperated tone, "How about: _no running._ This is the third time I've had to tell you this month."

"Can I hop down like a bunny, then?" Eri negotiated as he placed her down.

"I don't see why not. Hold the railing." The girl nodded and hopped down each step like said bunny, clutching the banister with every leap, as told. Shota passed her, anticipating a misstep at a moment's notice. At the final step, she jumped with her all, flying into the air before landing with a thud on the wood panel before running to the table and sitting in the chair next to where Shota usually sat. "All right. Settle down," the pro-hero said, scooping up two plates and two small bowls, balancing them on his arms until he got to the table. "Here."

"Thank you, Daddy," Eri chirped, taking one of each and setting them down at the two chairs.

"Mm-hm." A moment of quiet mingled through the air, with the two of them sitting.

"If I eat all of it," the little girl negotiated again, perkier than usual, "can I have the candy bar?!"

Shota replied, "After you scared me half to death at the market? No." The girl's shoulder, face, and eyes dropped by a whole disappointed foot—though she was clearly unhappy, her reaction almost made her father smile. But he knew he had to be firm, but fair. "But we are going to run some more errands tomorrow, so _maybe_ I'll give you another chance to earn it back." He winked at her, and she immediately perked right back up. "If you're good and finish your food."

"Okay!" She agreed.

Shota chuckled. "That's my girl." Eri reached for her chopsticks but paused when her father cleared his throat. She watched him clap his hands together in prayer, waiting for her to copy.

"Oh! Sorry." Eri put her hands together, and after they both said '_itadakimasu_,' she dug in with such rigor that Shota had to remind her of her napkin every ten seconds—though somehow getting food and sauce on her face and in her hair was a habit she had picked up from him (just ask his students).

"Slow down, killer," Shota told her, pulling a thick lump of sauce from her hair. 

**\- 50 minutes later –**

"Eri, Daddy's getting mad. Eat your food before he drinks adult juice and passes out in Sushi's litterbox. You don't want him to sleep in the cat-toilet, do you, sweetie?"

Eri made a short noise of disapproval, of the stupid bell peppers on her plate and at the idea of her father smashing his face in cat feces because she did not listen. But by the equally stubborn look on his face, he might just make her sit there until she ate the entire plate. She considered running away, hiding in her closet, the bathroom, or maybe even in his car until morning, but the more rational side of her knew Shota would either outrun her, find her, or count down from three with that deep undertone in his voice that indicated she neared the final warning. He would probably pluck her right up and carry her right back to the table, baby-style, with that scowl she did not enjoy. At all.

"Eri," he said after the stalling silence. "Eat your food."

"But I don't want to..."

"You can do it. Just try one. If you don't like it, then fine. But just…eat _one_."

"But I already know I won't like it!"

"You haven't even tasted it. C'mon. I'm not standing here till 10 again." Eri looked timidly at his stern face and leveled gaze. "I have work and you're past your bedtime."

"Why can't I just get my vitamins somewhere else?"

"Because we made a deal. Do you remember what that deal was?"

"But I don't like our deal anymore."

"A deal is a deal. I'm only asking you try one of them. That's all," Shota explained. "We agreed we both would keep trying. I cooked, so now that means you hold up your end. And that means right now." Eri slouched more, if possible, and glanced at the digital clock on the microwave. "Please don't make me count." She slowly reached for the abandoned chopsticks to her right, fumbling with them, measuring their length to match by the exact millimeter. Shota exhaled heavily, but silently, through his nostrils that might as well have been spewing fiery smoke, temper piqued, but his growing personal philosophy of educating-not-ordering granted him patience and a sturdy resolve.

When her chopsticks nudged the chosen green vegetable cube, he dug his nails into the bed of his palm to sustain his depleted patience. The goal involved her understanding the lesson he was attempting to teach, not how quickly she would gorge herself. But he would explain that at a later time…when said patience had finally replenished. "Just one, right? That's in our deal?" Eri said.

"Just one," Shota agreed. Eri nodded and after a brief hesitation, she placed the lukewarm, half-crunchy, half-slimy square in her mouth and chewed, begrudgingly. "Yay? Nay?" With a considering pause, his daughter scrunched up her face and shook her head. "All right," he said, defeated, "we'll make it work. Thanks for trying…finally." He leaned on the table, hands flat on the wood, and locked eyes with her, seriously. "Listen to me, Eri."

"Yes, Daddy?" she replied in a voice better suited for whenever he caught her in mischief. She did notlike when he stood or stared or talked like that.

"When I tell you to do something…" He raised his eyebrows.

"I do it."

"Why?"

"Because…you're Daddy?"

Despite his irritation and disapproval of standing at the table for an hour longer than intended, he broke a short grin at this answer for a brief moment. "More so because I have reasons for what I tell you to do. I'm not one to waste words or time, y'know?"

Eri nodded with doe-like eyes focused on him, relieved he refrained from snapping or yelling at her. "It's because you want me to have vegetables."

"Yes," Shota said. "And also, because I don't want you going to bed hungry." Eri let out a long sigh, but jerked up at attention when her father raised an eyebrow. "You just have to try one. Don't like it, then I'll try something else. Okay?"

"Okay."

"I don't want to do this anymore. Understand?"

"Yes, Daddy." Her pout nearly crumbled his stern-parent act a bit. He sighed, heavily, rubbing his neck.

"Okay." Taking the plate and empty cup, he swiped her side of the table with a damp paper towel as she hopped down from the chair. "Upstairs you go. I'll be up in a bit. Go on." Flicking on the water at the sink, he quickly scrubbed sauce and oil from the plate and chopsticks and then rested his aching hands under the warm water, shutting his eyes in relief as tiny footsteps raced up the stairs. The coziness of the water trailed up his arms in a caress not easily displaced by the wintry chill on the hardwood. It had been a rough week thus far, what with Eri's struggle to go to school, her refusal to listen to him at the dinner table, and now the market scare. Willing himself to thinking this was all expected, normal childish behavior, the next obstacle of believing it and leaving it to resolve itself proved a formidable opponent, a confrontation in which he found himself ill-prepared. Had he been too harsh or not harsh enough? He jerked out of this calming, meditative state at the rough vibration of his phone deep in his back pocket. "Holy f—" Drying his hands with a dishrag, he retrieved the rude device and squinted at the screen, reading _Cesspit_, and touched the red icon to reject. "Sorry, Jig. I don't have the energy for you right now," he muttered to himself.

"Daddy!" Eri called from upstairs.

"I'm coming." Shota shoved his phone back in its place and started for the stairs, where his expectant daughter waited for him in the bathroom.

—**months ago—**

"Here we are," he said in a tone unfitting for someone showing off his house. Well, townhouse. A modest place, Eri decided as she entered slowly, gazing around the naked walls and nearly vacant living room space that branched off to a kitchen to the right and a hallway and staircase to the left. There were huge square windows in every room, hidden half-heartedly by symmetrically hideous brown curtains, and a bay window in the kitchen above the sink where a stretched-out plant took refuge. "It's nothing special, but I'm not a high-maintenance type of guy. It's not rational to fill up the place with junk."

"It's nice," Eri mumbled. A two-year-old cat with colors of black, brown, and white wobbled his way around the corner to greet his owner and paused at the sight of a newcomer. "Spots?"

"That's Chubb," Shota said, shutting the door and helping the girl out of her coat.

"Chubb?"

"Yeah. His name's actually Sushi, but it's 'cause he's a fatty now. He responds to either name, so…"

"Oh."

"Yeah." He studied the girl beside him, particularly the slight twinkle in her wide-set eyes as she observed the tabby's thin coat. But she dared not move an inch. When he tilted his head in his speculation, a suspicious ruby iris shot his way—more specifically, his hand. Shota's meticulous eye caught this, of course, but he said nothing of it. Instead, he walked over to the cat and scooped him up, kneeling. "Want to pet him? You can." Eri slowly met her caretaker's eyes, pleating the rims of her dress. Sitting on the floor, Shota cradled Sushi in his arms until the overweight thing snuggled in his arms. "He's nice. See?" Eri took a considering moment, glancing between the cat and the man, and then inched her way over.

Sushi sniffed her hand when she went to pet him. After a while, he pawed at her arm and curled his thin-haired tail. Eri giggled. "His tongue is so big."

"Mm-hm. I think he likes you." The little girl sat on her knees, stroking Sushi's fur, holding his paw, letting him sniff her face. "Want to hold him?" She nodded, so Shota placed the seven-year-old cat in her lap. The gray-striped tabby flipped over on his back and let her pat his belly. The resident black cat of three years pounced up on the counter, watching the exchange with judgmental eyes and flicks of her tail. Shota glanced at her. "Dude, don't be a jerk grandma. Get down here and say hi." However, the black cat simply leapt to the living room couch and snuggled herself in for a nap.

"Another kitty?"

"Yeah, but that one's a little crap sometimes. She'll say hi to you when she's ready."

"Okay." Eri nodded, a short, unsure smile trying to form on unfamiliar rosebud lips, and kept playing with the ever-so-playful tabby. "Um, Mr. Aizawa?"

"Yes?"

"Did you get in trouble? In the big room, I mean." Shota watched her closely. "I…heard yelling—you and another guy, that tall guy with the red suit."

"Oh," he said. "Right. Well, no, I didn't get in trouble. Sometimes adults argue, louder than we should have, I'll admit."

"I hope it wasn't because of me," Eri said.

"No, it—"

"I make people get hurt. I'm cursed."

"Don't you know how fairytales go?" Shota suggested. The little girl tilted her head, staring at him with near-blankness, but more so childish wonder. "Oh. Right. U-um, well… In fairytales, it's usually…_things_ that are cursed. People put curses on things."

Eri thought hard on that for a moment, scrunching down her normally-lowered brows and nibbling on her usually-trembling bottom lip. After a bit of processing, she simply said, "Okay. I'm…happy. So, that means me being here isn't hurting anyone? I'm not bad?"

"Uh-huh," Shota said, feeling ridiculous, but willingly so. "You're not cursed and you're not a curse, kid." He poked her nose, causing her to jump a bit. "Only apples and spindles are."

A wide smile burst onto Eri's face as she laughed out loud. "I like apples!" Lost in the rare, never-before-seen sight of such an innocent, beautiful expression, Shota gaped for a few seconds, just watching…watching the horrendous damage Chisaki inflicted on such a precious life slowly thawing, releasing its grip on her in spurts. _Izuku…Mirio_, he thought, forming a warm smile of his own, _you idiots truly are heroes_. _…But I'll keep that to myself for now._

"Listen to me real quick, Eri," Shota said, seriously. Eri looked at him as her laughter died down, eyes wide with curiosity, thirsting for whatever else he had to say. "People can be really, really cruel, as you know. They can say every single thing you don't want to hear, they can hurt everyone around them, and they obviously won't say sorry. But there are people who are good, people like Deku and Mirio, and all the other heroes who helped you—"

"And you, too, Mister."

Shota slowly nodded. _I hope so_. "And…me, yes. I'm one of the good guys. But the reason I'm telling you this is…well, because despite all that darkness and evil, there is always light somewhere. You just have to be willing to let it in, and it will get in. I understand it must be hard for you, but—… It just gets better. I hope you know you're safe now."

"Are you?" Eri said in a sorrowful tone, dropping her eyes to her clutched fists.

"Am I what?"

"Are…are you safe, too? With me here?"

Shota put his hand over hers, as if to validate his words. He waited for her to look at him again to say with certainty, "Yes. I'm safe."

As he spoke, Eri's eyes watered without pause as she gazed at him, frozen, unsure how to react, but encapsulated in warmth at his words, at his unspoken words perceived through his body language. "You… You fought all those adults in the big room to tell me that? And to take me to your house?"

Shota's face began to heat up and his tongue seemed to swell, his throat caught, unable to form more words. His stutter, though he said nothing, held his voice captive, but her question tangled his left-brain and pricked at his right-brain, attempting to spill the inner fluids and color to spill through. A process that rendered him speechless. All his life, eyes shut, living in a haze, blinded by logicalities, seeing only shimmers of light, but making no attempt to grasp it, _wasted_—an idle existence completely washed away only at the simple phrase spoken by this particular little girl. "Uh—… W-well, I-I…" He had long-since been in a slumber, alone, allowing no one near his exhausted heart, rationalizing his barricade-defense as the most fitting way for one to survive. But Eri—she had punched a crackling dent in the titanium wall within a single evening. "I—…" There was nothing in his mind, just jumbles and tangents and fleeting half-thoughts, so he spoke without thought, "It was the most rational thing to do. You didn't deserve to get hurt like that."

Eri slowly came over, noticing the obvious struggle in his honey-tinted eyes (though she initially thought them to be midnight black), and wrapped her arms around his torso, lightly, unsure how much to cling. "Thank you." Shota, now at a complete loss for words, resorted to gingerly petting her hair. "I'm happy to be here…with you, Mister."

"Me…too…Eri. I'm happy, too." Eri looked up at him after a bit, while listening to his heart race and his pupils dilate, then spread as a slow smile found its way to his entire expression, including the water filling his eyes. And, again, gingerly, he took her in his arms. Shota averted his eyes to the window giving way to a clear, orange, pink, and golden sky complementing the dullness of the overcast day it concluded. He watched the rays dance as minutes passed, seeping through his minimalist Weasley-like cottage in fragmentations of strokes and trails. He closed his eyes to will away the tears of foreign joy and relief (and perhaps, shock) as warmth that had vanished the day his father walked out and held the door for Tsubasa, the silence he had carried on through, as if he had had a choice, disintegrated and all that came through was Eri's voice, speaking words he had never heard, not from family or lovers or students or citizens he saved. His world…shifted. "How about…" he said, gaining his composure, praying to no avail that Eri had not noticed his theatrics, "how about we grab some dinner?"

"Okay," Eri said, sitting up quickly.

"What'cha hungry for?"

"Um…" When she rubbed her eyes from her own tears, Shota quickly swiped a hand down his face and put on his usual expression once more, crossing his arms. "Maybe…the take-out?" Shota arched his eyebrows at her, unsure what she meant, but listening patiently. "One of your students said that take-out is the best food, but it's even better on a man…?"

"Which student told you that?"

"Mi…na? I think her name was Mina."

_Detention it is, Ms. Ashido. Way to go_.Shota nodded. "I… Take-out sounds great, but let's keep it on the plate. I'm not trying to scrub sauce out of my carpet." Retrieving four menus from one of the kitchen drawers, he placed them before the little girl and said, "Just pick out whichever one you want."

"Maybe this one?" Her small finger pointed at a seafood fried rice dish with halibut and shrimp.

"Sure," Shota agreed. "That place is actually just around the corner. Good choice, kiddo." He plucked up his phone and the other three menus and stashed them back in their place while dialing the chosen restaurant's number. "I don't usually do this, but why don't we eat in the living room? Watch some TV?" Shota offered. Eri nodded. "Pick out whatever you want—" She tugged on his shirt. "What is it?" He followed her eyes to a box of cinnamon cookies on the pantry's top shelf.

"Can I please have one?" Eri asked, almost as if she were already expecting to be told no and chastised for it.

Shota reached up for the box. "Of course, but only a few. Don't want to spoil your appetite, y'know? Here." He handed her the box with a spotted puppy on the front, a brand his nephews always loved whenever his older sister came to town.

"Thank you!" Eri beamed.

"Mm-hm, go ahead. Get comfortable. I'll call."

When he returned, Eri was cuddled up in the blanket, hugging Sushi, with the title screen of _Tangled_ on the modest-sized TV. By the climax of the movie, after they had eaten, he noticed that Eri, his…daughter, had the same wondrous spark in her eye as Rapunzel did as she gazed upon the golden lanterns. And for months-to-come, the two slowly but surely interlinked in a bond so foreign, yet so comfortably natural by the spark of something more than simple adoration. Eri's quiet trailing behind Shota became a confident race into his arms. Whilst, Shota's casual showering Eri the best way he knew how—with extravagantly prepared dishes and desserts—shifted to a blatant showering of affection. A sustaining, boundless love engraved like calligraphy on each other's hearts.

And now, as always, after a playful bath, a calm story in bed, and a kiss upon her forehead, Eri's light snores caused her father to smile and watch her sleep a tad longer than needed. For long, he believed the true means of success aligned with that of rationality, simplicity, and self-sufficiency. He needed nothing, needed no one but himself. Stubbornly did this mentality reside in him, unwilling to release him to the widths of wonders about the world he had turned his back on, despite his pro-heroic and teaching careers. He gave just enough to sustain himself, but always kept an extra mile of distance between himself and others for protective purposes. But here, in his minimalistic-style house, watching Eri sleep in their shared bed in the loft, finally he realized the surprising amount of hope and warmth stored deep inside him. It had been there, under the casks of granite logic and barriers of self-insurance, like a single candle inside the dark corpse of a charred, graffitied cabin. At last, he had found it. His three-foot miracle that sometimes drove him up the wall, but inspired him each day to be a better man and father.

That was more than enough.


	5. Chapter 5 - The Brother

**A/N:** Heyooo~ Thanks so much for all the support and follows/favorites! Means a lot, guys - you have no idea! This semester's been rough, but I finally got my editing in! This one's a longer chapter, but full of some heavy content. Hope you like!

...

*Just some heads-up for the new family present in this chapter (and mentioned in the previous), and the names:

\- Sheeran Fuse (fu-say): Shota calls him "Dad"; Eri calls him "Poppi." His is Shota's grandfather; therefore, Eri's great-grandfather.

\- Yoona Fuse: Shota calls her "Mum"; Eri calls her "Nana." She is Shota's grandmother; and Eri's great-grandmother.

\- Jong Hoga: Shota calls him "Jig" or "Jiggy." He is Shota's younger, maternal half-brother; son of Yoko Fuse-Hoga and Tsubasa Hoga. Eri does not know him.

\- Yoko Fuse-Hoga: Shota calls her "Mama." Eri will call her "Grandma" in future stories. Obviously, she is Shota's mother and Eri's grandmother.

\- Tsubasa Hoga: Shota calls him by name. Eri does not know him. He is Shota's abusive stepfather, and the one who literally left scars on him. He and Yoko divorced after Shota graduated from U.A.

(These two don't pop up, but might as well...)  
\- Yori Aizawa: Shota's biological father, to whom he was born to out of wedlock. Shota's last memory of him was on his fifth birthday. Is believed to be dead by Shota.

\- Chi Aizawa: Shota's older, paternal half-sister.  
**And then, you guys know Shota and Eri's pet names for each other - they're polluted all over the story! XD The fluff is everywhere!

I know it's a lot to pour on y'all, but I want to clear up any confusion as best I can!

Anyway, let's get this bread!

_Don't forget to R&R, please!_  
...

**Chapter 05 The Brother**

"_C__hasing you like a shot of whiskey,_

_Burning going down, burning going down;_

_Chasing you like those goodbye taillights,_

_Headed west to anywhere out of this nowhere town…"_

An itch attacked Shota's foot as he hastily alternated between typing and marking papers with a pen, glasses on, one blaring earphone in, coffee (topped off with brandy) onboard and hair a frenzy of waves and well-wound ringlets with his bangs clipped back on the top of his head, and temper a bit piqued that Kaminari and Kirishima had—once again—managed to receive the same failing grade for the short, introductory writing prompt on Romanticism in literature…not to mention that _neither _of them turned in their signed progress reports. "I swear you boys are screwing with me," he muttered, bringing his foot up to scratch away the annoying sensation.

"…_Chasing that freedom, _

_Chasing that feeling that got gone too soon._

Chasing that you and me

I only see in my rear view…"

Placing the failing twins' papers aside and reaching for Uraraka's (thankfully) legible paper, he read over her responses about the beautification of the ordinary, exploration of the human psyche, and celebration of nature, and such. Sighing in relief, he let the tense muscles of his back and shoulders release and sipped his coffee, reading the girl's neat penmanship and well-formatted work, crossing his feet at the ankles.

"…_use to talk about L.A.,_

_I heard you got as far as Santa Fe._

_Well, you know I tried to track you down;_

_I only got as far as Guitar Town_—"

The same tickling itch distracted him, but this time it sent his foot into a short jerk. Taking out the earbud, he reeled over to see what the hell caused the foot spasm, thinking it was one of the cats...to see Eri attempt to evade his line of sight. He scowled with disapproval lined with the raise of his brow.

"Uh-oh," Eri muttered when his expression narrowed.

"Uh-oh's right." Shota rolled and closed his eyes in relief that he had not gone crazy. "You're supposed to be napping, missy." The girl crawled closer to him, arms up to be lifted onto his lap, like always. He set her on his knee, facing him. "What happened to that?"

"Why do you smell like chocolate?" Eri tilted her head, then gently grasped a thick, wavy lock of black that collapsed over his shoulder. "Did you eat my candy bar?"

"No," her father said with a chuckle. "I put chocolate syrup in my coffee sometimes."

"Can I try it?" Before he could reply, she grabbed the huge mug with her two hands and brought it to her lips for a short sip. Shaking his head in amusement, he steadied the mug when she drew back with a look of disgust on her face. "It tastes like burnt water," Eri complained, wiping her mouth with her sleeve.

"Burnt water, huh?" Shota asked, curiously. He could already hear the social worker barking at him for the brandy Eri had just accidentally ingested. Rationally, he knew he would deserve the scolding, too. It was just a sip. But maybe that was the Shikoku country bumpkin in him coming out again. He glanced at the screen of his laptop, crinkling his nose to level his glasses. "Never heard of burnt water, piglet."

"Well…" Eri thought hard, staring at the splotchy scar on her father's elbow. She wondered what had caused such a violent-looking thing, but she figured it best not to ask. During bath times, she had seen the scar lattice on his back; sometimes, whenever he wore muscle shirts at nap- or bedtime, she could see the crisscrosses peeking out from under the ruffled fabric. But again, she never asked. And by the way he flinched whenever anything even brushed against his back, she suspected it was for the better she never did. She never wanted to hurt Daddy. She realized her father's expresso eyes on her. Had he said something to her? So, she perked up and finished her thought: "Actually, it tastes like dirt. That thing."

"That's why it's an adult drink. And _don't_ wipe your face with your shirt— _Eri_!" Shota nagged, snatching her arm to inspect the stain on the light-blue fabric. A disapproving scowl found its way to his face. Sighing, he met her eyes again. "Now why aren't you asleep, huh? Was I talking to myself again?"

"Uh-uh," Eri replied, shaking her head so that her white waves danced, "I just couldn't fall asleep." She plucked the glasses off his nose and put them over her eyes, holding them with two hands.

"I only put you down five minutes ago…"

"Daddy, how come the right side is fuzzier than the left side?"

"Because Daddy didn't eat his vegetables growing up," Shota answered, casually glancing over his daughter's head at the computer screen. If he did not have this report in within the next hour, Ryo was going to have his head. "Don't look into them too long, sweetheart. You'll hurt your eyes."

"Why?" Eri asked in a tone more jovial than usual.

"Because they were made for me, specifically," Shota replied in the same monotone voice.

"Daddy, can I please, please, _please_—"

"No, sweetheart. You're too young."

Eri placed the glasses back on her father's face, not that he actually noticed, as the computer screen seemed to hypnotize him. "But I didn't finish what I wanted to say!"

Shota quickly glanced at her. "What did you want to say?"

"Can I walk to the park tomorrow with my friend?"

"No, sweetheart. You're too young. See? I listened."

"You cheated..."

"How did I cheat?"

"You always tell me no."

"I do not."

"Yes, you do."

"Eri, baby, _please_ don't pull this on me while I'm working." Shota rubbed his eyes before reaching in his workbag for eyedrops. Administering the lubricant, he said, "Look, I only tell you no if things don't add up. All right?"

"But you always say no..." Eri jerked at his shirt for emphasis.

He held his head up to the ceiling for a moment, letting the drops sink in. "No. You just remember me saying no because it makes you pout."

"I don't pout!"

Chuckling, he replied, "Oh, yes, you do." He finally looked down to find his daughter pursing her little lips and her wide, ruby eyes focused on him with juvenile stubbornness. With another chuckle, he moved his glasses to the top of his head and smoothed her hair. "I'm not trying to ruin your life. I say no to keep you safe."

Eri's puppy-like frown only scrunched up more. "You said no because you weren't invited..."

Shota feigned shock. "You're hurting Daddy's feelings, El-Belle."

Eri's frown dissipated into a smile and a laugh, and she grasped her father's hair again. "I'm sorry. It's just that...I know you don't do your homework sometimes because we go to the park. I didn't want you to keep getting in trouble with Mr. Ryo."

"Ah," Shota said, catching on, "so that's what this is about. You were worried about me?" Eri nodded. "Well, I'll have you know that everything is okay."

"But I heard him yelling at you over the phone last week..."

"What did I say about listening in on phone calls?"

"Sorry. I heard him say you were going to have to make up time. Because it was fair."

Shota sighed and averted his eyes to the wall for a moment. "Mr. Ryo likes to bark at Daddy. Everything's gonna be fine."

"It is?"

"Yes," he affirmed, holding her eyes the entire time to let her see he was sure. "Daddy is just gonna be on time-out on Monday after class."

"Oh, no!"

Chuckling, her father checked his vibrating phone to see the notification icon flashing for an incoming email. _West Musutafu Rehab Center_, it read. Shota opened Gmail on his Surface and clicked on the highlighted message.

_Mr. Shota Aizawa,_

_Hello! This is an informative email from West Musutafu Rehabilitation Center. Our databases have found your information is listed as Jong Hoga's emergency contact. According to our surveillance camera, Jong Hoga was seen leaving the facility around 3:42pm today without authorized approval. If there are any locations in which you suspect the patient to be or if the patient is currently with you, please contact us at (777)222-2222._

_Thank you, and remember: rehab is not cowardice, but courage!_

"Crap," Shota said under his breath. "Goddamn it!"

"Daddy?" Eri tugged on his shirt, more concerned by the irritated and panicked tone of voice than the curse and how much money he now owed the Swear Jar.

Shota glanced at her. "Sorry."

"Did something happen?"

"Someone got himself in trouble, so I have to go save him. Again."

"Superhero work?"

"Sure."

"Can I come?"

"Well, no. You're gonna stay home with…your great-grandparents."

Eri crawled up onto her father's desk, sitting cross-legged atop marked and unmarked papers. "Who's that?"

Shota grabbed his phone and searched his contact list. "You haven't met them yet, but they…are my mom's dad and mom. My grandparents."

"Are they old?" Eri blurted out.

He snickered. "A little. But they'll love you." With precise fingers, he quickly sent out a lengthy text to his grandparents in a group chat: _Jiggy snuck out, but first, do you mind coming over? I REALLY need you for something…or someone. Please tell me you're free today._ "If they say yes, then they'll be over in about an hour or so, so make sure your toy box is clean, okay?"

"Okay," Eri agreed, hopping off the desk, landing on her knees, and then darting out the office/bedroom loft to the downstairs living room where her toys were scattered.

When Shota put his phone down, it immediately buzzed and he plucked it right back up. Yoona, his grandmother, answered first: _Are you serious? Jong's out again?_

And then his grandfather, Sheeran: _We're free. We're actually on the Main Island today. _A pause, then he texted again:_ Wait, who's this 'someone'?_

Shota: _I'll explain everything when I see you. I'm sorry. Can you please hurry? I think I might know where he went._

Sheeran: _Okay._

Yoona: _We'll be there in fifteen. Don't worry, shortcake._

Shota: _Thanks. I owe you guys a buffet night._

As promised, the two arrived at the Aizawa residence in fifteen minutes on the dot. Folding and refolding a damp dishrag in the kitchen, Shota heard the signature Toyota horn when the car locked. He made something like a choppy gasp that prompted Eri to clutch the rim of his shirt. "I'm excited to meet them," she said, offering a supportive smile.

Shota smiled, strained and nauseous-looking, and then went to open the door. Looking between his grandparents, he said in a husky voice, "Hi." He stepped aside to let them in.

"Uh-oh." Sheeran sighed, leading his wife inside the house. "That tone."

Yoona chuckled and kissed her grandson's face. "Usually means you did something crazy without telling us about—" She stopped upon seeing Eri seated comfortably at the dinner table, staring right back at her with huge curious eyes. "Oh, shortcake, I didn't know you…" She turned and whispered to him as he shut the door. "Who is that?"

"This is Eri," he said, extending a hand to the child, who came to his side. "She's my daughter."

"Oh," Yoona said, not knowing what else to say. She kneeled down to the girl, smiling welcomingly, while Sheeran stared sternly at Shota, who, catching only a moment of this, averted his eyes to his grandmother. "It's very nice to meet you, Eri. I'm—"

"Nana?" Eri said, tilting her head. "Daddy said I can call you Nana." She looked up at Sheeran, who broke into a calm grin. "And you're Poppi?"

Receiving a glare, Shota flushed, muttering, "Sorry. I figured it's better than Great Grandpa or something."

"Yes, dear. I'm…Poppi." Sheeran took her hand and kissed the knuckles, bent down to her eye level. "I'm very happy to see you. Shota." He and Yoona both looked at their now-nervous grandson. "A word, please."

Sighing, Shota dragged his eyes to his daughter and gestured back toward the dining table. "Sweetheart, finish your snack. Go on." Eri nodded.

##

"It's not what you think," Shota explained, leaning on the sink in the kitchen. Somehow, in his twenty-some years of life and mature stature, standing there while his grandparents cornered him reminded him of his younger, but not-any-simpler days. Quite frankly, he aligned this act with one of his grandmother's heart-to-heart's, or his grandfather's what-did-I-tell-you's after a U.A. teacher called home for truancy. So, to appear more adult-ish, or attempt to, he straightened his back and rested his palms on the counter. "I promise you; you'd know if something like that happened."

Yoona shrugged, adjusting her cardigan. "Well, honey, considering your teenage sex-capades…"

"Mum!" Shota flushed, horrified that such words came out his grandmother's mouth.

"Oh, yeah. I remember that," Sheeran muttered, shaking his head.

"No one says sex-capades anymore," Shota said, hurriedly, to the point of near-breathlessness (if not from nerves, then from shock), "and that's not where Eri came from." He took a calming breath, relieved they did not know the full, gruesome, pathetic truth of said sex-capades. To reel his mind back to happier, more rational times, he remembered his daughter. "I adopted her. Eri."

"Adopted?" Shota shrugged simply. "Never saw that coming…" His grandfather raked the salt-and-pepper strands from his forehead. In truth, he never expected Shota to want a child; but he had always hoped his grandson would find happiness and comfort somehow, somewhere, and with someone. So, he smiled to himself in the knowledge that God had answered his years-long prayer. "Wait, the adoption process takes a load of time," he said, suddenly.

Yoona jumped in, sending a watered-down scowl at Shota, "Why did you wait so long—"

"No, there wasn't— She was saved from a villain." Seeing the confusion and shock on his de-facto parents' faces, Shota continued: "U.A. took her in, one thing led to another, I saw an opportunity to take her, and I did." Sure, adopting a traumatized child was considered honorable by those who knew of Eri's background. But he figured why inflate the story with pompous detail if he had merely made the decision based on intuition. That was the media's so-called job, not his as a parent, or hero, or man. He shrugged again. "It was the most rational thing to do. She needed a parent."

"Ah," said Sheeran, tilting his head in thought.

Shota took a breath and said with a slight puff of his chest, "I…just loved her the moment I saw her. Knew she needs me. So, if you're going to try to scold me, I'm ready to fight—"

"No, no." Sheeran glanced at his wife in agreement. Yoona raised her eyebrows, speechlessly smiling in gratitude and fortune. "We're not here to do that." Relieved to hear this, Shota gave an accepting nod. "So, why didn't you tell us about her? This is a good thing!"

Shota hummed in thought. "Well…I guess I didn't know how to for some reason."

Yoona asked, "Why not, pup?"

"I don't know. I can't figure it out," Shota said. He frowned and shook his head, trying to think of a reason—a reasonable reason—as to why he did not spread the news to his family. "It's not rational."

"Life's not always rational," Sheeran offered, sounding rehearsed. "And life's not about being rational all the time."

Shota sighed, having been nagged about the same thing since he was young, since he conditioned himself to think and act logically at all times to avoid Tsubasa's rage. "Okay, okay." But, having adopted the missing part of his heart, he had to reawaken his old, locked away self again. He had to repeat that mantra every day, it seemed. Noticing the silence in the room, he deadpanned, "Mum, Dad." They both looked at him, immediately. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you."

"Shota."

"What's important is that you helped a little girl in need," Yoona reassured, grabbing Shota's hand. "And we're so proud of you for that. Don't feel like you can't tell us anything. Okay?" For a moment, for the first time in a very, _very_ long time, he could almost sense himself shrinking back down to a child's stature, more so when his grandmother hugged him gently and his grandfather messed up his hair. "Don't be afraid to talk to us."

"Yeah, yeah."

Sheeran helped himself to some apple juice in the fridge, pouring some for his wife. "So, I'm assuming she's the someone you needed us to watch over?"

"Please…?" Shota said, after he and his grandmother parted. "I'll make it up to you."

"Boy, she's family now. You don't owe family anything. Let us spend some time with our new granddaughter."

"Great-granddaughter, dear," Yoona reminded, taking her cup.

"Oh, yeah, huh…"

Shota sighed and opened the fridge for a beer. "Thank God. You guys are the best." Waiting for an answer that did not come, he awkwardly turned back to his grandparents. "What's… What?"

Yoona's usually amiable expression morphed into a strict glower. "You put that thing back in that fridge right now, mister."

"Heh?" Shota cocked a brow.

Sheeran chuckled. "Boy, it's not even 5 yet."

Shota groaned and put the beer back. "You're going to baby me until I'm fifty. I'll go tell Eri about tonight, then. Make yourselves at home." With a long sigh of relief, he made his way out of the kitchen when he noticed a flash of white hair in the corner of the next room. "What're you doing there?" he asked, exhausted-sounding, and turned directly to his daughter.

Eri's dimples only deepened and a learned complacent smirk, complemented with half-lidden eyes full of I-told-you-so. Shota's frown returned in question, a short lecture present in the wrinkle of his nose. She mocked his nose crinkle and teased, "You got in trouble."

Shota made a confused noise, and then sighed at his own misfortune. "I did, huh?" He rushed toward her, despite her alarmed scream, and swooped her up in the air. He swung her around a few times across his shoulders. "What did I say about eavesdropping?" Eri's giggles increased as she clung to his sleeve, pawing at his back to hold on. Sheeran and Yoona watched the two, holding each other's hands and exchanging meaningful looks.

_Finally_, they thought. _Finally. There's his smile_.

##

"I shouldn't be long," Shota said, tossing his capture scarf over his shoulders. He wore civilian clothes, but he would be damned if he was caught in a mix-up without his main weapon. Though he could manage with just his hands and feet, it would be most rational to come fully prepared. Besides, if not for battle, then he would have it for warmth. "If Jig went anywhere," he claimed, dragging his hair out from under the material, "it's probably our secret hideout. Or at least somewhere along the way."

Sheeran held Eri's hand while Yoona helped Shota into a winter coat and straightened his scarf. "Be careful out there."

"Yeah, Dad. I know."

"Do you have everything you need?"

"Uh-huh. It's just a simple errand. I'll be fine."

"You sure?"

"_Dad_. Yes. I'm a grown man. Okay?" Shota knelt down to his daughter, his entire expression shifting from his usual can't-be-bothered to devoted father. "Daddy'll be home soon. But you be good for Nana and Poppi, understand?"

"Yes, Daddy," Eri accepted, staring blankly at him.

"Sorry," Shota said to his grandparents, a pink tint to his cheeks. "First time leaving her."

"We've all been there, pup." Sheeran let go of Eri's hand and patted Shota's back. "She's in good hands. We dealt with you after all."

"Thanks." The pro-hero turned back to his child and said, "Give me a kiss." Eri immediately came in and pecked him before tossing her arms around his neck as always. "I'll be home soon," he comforted when she started sniffling and squeezed him harder. He rubbed her back gently. "It's okay. Shh, baby." He kissed her teary cheek as she clung to him and whispered the comforting words to her, patting her gently.

"Look at that, Sheeran," Yoona fawned, grasping her husband's hand. "What a good father."

"Yeah," said the husband, beaming with pride.

Shota pulled his necklace—a strong silver amulet, an heirloom from Sheeran himself—over his head and placed it over Eri's head. "Keep it safe tonight. If I'm not home by bedtime, I promise you'll see me in the morning. First thing. Okay?" Eri wiped her eyes and nodded. "Love you." Shota pulled her nose in parting, making her giggle. "All right, you guys—" He noticed the (shit-eating) supportive, teasing smirks on his grandparents' faces and cocked an eyebrow. "_What_?"

"What happened to the whole I'll-never have-kids-because-they-smell-funny façade?" Sheeran taunted.

"Funny," Shota said, squinting.

Yoona chuckled in teasing agreement. "And the for-a-pro-to-have-kids-is-the-height-of-irrationality excuse."

"Ugh." Shota rolled his eyes and started for his car. "I'm leaving. Her bedtime's at 8:00. Sharp. Bye."

"Bye-bye, Daddy! I love you!" Eri chirped.

"Drive safe!" Yoona chuckled, waving her grandson off.

Only a half-hour's drive, Shota's vigilant eyes found Jong's cinnamon-brown hair in the mess of gray and white that was the wintry town by the docks. He pulled up to the park with the frozen-over lake, and drove back to the side with the abandoned playground from the '50's, where he and his younger brother had graffitied the swings with Sharpies. As expected, Shota found Jong sitting on his usual swing by a hidden cul-de-sac with a single flickering streetlight. He stood at a distance for a moment, studying the broadness of his brother's shoulders, internalizing how grown his Jiggy appeared. It was the second time he had realized this, the second time he had missed out on days and memories gone by. But simultaneously, anger sparked inside his chest, and he frowned at the thought of how much better Jong would look if he was not doped up on drugs. The closer he drew to the taller man, the more the familiarly addictive scent of marijuana assaulted his nostrils. And a lot of it.

Jong coughed, blowing something thick out of a nostril onto the floor, and dragged out a sigh, fluffs of warm breath floating from him into the chilly air.

"Because obviously," Shota spoke suddenly, causing Jong to shudder, "an ass-load of skunk solves everything, eh, kid?"

"Shota!" Jong said, shooting up to hug his brother. "You're here—"

"Outstanding job, really," Shota said, keeping his fisted hands firmly in his pockets.

"What do you mean?"

"You've created a whole new brand of stupid. Good to see you've been productive with your time."

"Pup, quit playing—"

"No," Shota said, scowling. "I'm _not_ happy with you."

"You're never happy. Shit!" Out of the younger brother's jacket fall a glass pipe that shattered on the cement, exposing some white powder. "Damn it!"

Shota, though his heart nearly shattered along with the pipe, watched his brother scurry after the remnants of the drug. "Well, seeing this doesn't ever help. I knew without seeing that pipe that not only are you smoking pot, but you've taken up coke, too." His tone hitched, and sharpened. "Why? One addictive drug ain't enough?"

"I'm not easy to please." Jong smirked with cracked lips.

Shota's brows rose in sarcastic amusement. "Yeah, obviously. Looking for another rehab center? The one I pour a crap load of my salary into isn't enough for you?" He stood over his brother now, unflinching as the latter stood and regained height over him. "You want something more hands-on, like a prison? 'Cause you're playing with illegal shit."

"Stop nagging." Jong snickered to himself for a while. "How come you never comb your hair, huh?" He reached over and pulled a frayed lock of his brother's hair.

"Stop— _Stop _it." Shota smacked his hand away quickly, a routine they have reenacted since childhood. "It's probably because I have to be ready to drop everything and trail your ass down. In the middle of my day."

"I don't need a lecture."

"Well, what do you need?"

"Just money."

"Hell no."

"Why?"

"Why do you think? Look at yourself. I'd have to be as high as you are to give you _anything_."

Jong staggered to face his older brother, expecting to see an impenetrable expression, but instead…raging sympathy. He scowled at Shota. He did not need sympathy, or pity, or that stupid look his brother got whenever he tried not to feel bad for something. Shota's expressions were subtle, but the truth was always in his eyes. And it pissed Jong off. "Oh? What's this?"

Shota sighed quickly. "Jig, you're high beyond your own comprehension. Let's not—"

"—Just because now you're some big-shit hero, you think you're better than me?"

"_Jiggy_—"

"Well, you're not! You're just another hyped-up Quirky! Damn birth-defected freak!"

"You're thinking up nonsense, as usual."

"Poor, stupid, _weak_ little Shota!"

"—Oh, yeah," Shota groaned, flattening his eyes at his ranting brother, "that's mature."

"Poor, little boy playing hero, too busy organizing the shit coming outta your mouth to help your own brother—"

"I have a _daughter_!" Shota exploded, uncharacteristically throwing his arms in the air, allowing the rage and disappointment to churn his calm face to a liberating scowl. He let his arms hit his sides in near defeat. "Christ! _That's _why! You understand?!" A moment passed between the Aizawa-Hoga brothers, so silent the light rustling of leaves on branches occupied the space instead. Shota swallowed his rage and calmed his voice to a warning hush, half-way expecting his brother to lash back out, "I have a kid."

Jong slowly let his drooling mouth shut. "Huh," he said, baffled in his intoxication of sorts. "You have a…a daughter." He glanced back at Shota after taking a much-needed seat. "You have a kid?"

Shota let out a dragged-on sigh before he said, "Yes."

"Wow… _Wow_." Jong ran his winter-dried hand through his hair and shook his head. "That's great, man… You know, if you were aiming to be emasculated by your twenties."

Shota rolled his eyes. "You're a laugh riot, kid."

"Who's the mother?" Jong asked, scratching his scalp furiously.

"Adopted," his brother said.

"Never saw that coming." Jong wiped his nose on his sleeve and then looked at his brother, squinting as if he were staring at the sun. "What happened to you? The moment you left home, you're having sex like a freaking dog," Shota broke eye contact and looked at his feet for a moment, "and now, you're acting like a damn nun."

Shota rolled his eyes to hide the emotional onslaught that clenched his heart, remembering that specific hell he once lived. "I…just changed. And then again, for my kid. I had to get right before I could really move on."

"Get right?" Jong snorted. "You sound like Grandpa Sheeran."

"Yeah, well…"

"What's she like?"

"She's five. Good kid. Smart. Not sure which is bigger, her heart or her eyes." The two let the tension simmer down as silence grew. Shota looked at his brother first. "I think she'd really love an uncle, too."

"That supposed to be me?"

"Not now, that's for sure. But in the long run, I hope so."

"Really?" Jong asked as his brother simply nodded. "Look, I just need money."

"What you need is self-discipline."

"Screw off."

"I'm not going to lie to you. You're too old for that, too old for _this_—"

"I don't need a lecture from you. Get it through your head. I need money and somewhere to go. Just give me what you usually pay for my housing."

"Jig, I—" Another vibration alerted him, a text from Sheeran along with a picture. Shota opened the attachment to see Eri snuggled up in bed with her favorite toys and blanket.

_She wanted you to see that she tucked herself in like a big girl!_ _Come home soon, boy, it's supposed to snow tonight. The center sent out a search car to find Jong, so it's only a matter of time. I'll stay till you arrive. -Dad_

He sighed and put his phone back into his pocket. "I can't keep doing this with you, Jig. I have responsibilities now, and I can't drop everything to come find you or give you money." Shota re-pictured the image of Eri in his mind. "I'm a father. I have someone who needs me…more than you do."

"Shota, come on." Jong took a step towards his brother, who stepped back.

"Don't," Shota said, sharply. In his pockets, his hands were willed unmercifully into fists. They stayed in their place, but they quivered violently. "I can't trust myself around you. Just stay over there."

"What are you trying to say?" Jong asked, irritated.

"I'm _not_ your nurse, I am _not_ your mommy, and I sure as hell ain't a money dispenser. No, the only reason I'm paying for your treatment is because…" Jaw clenching, Shota muttered a curse and looked down for a bit, regaining his composure. "I just can't."

"You can't what?"

"You've had years to recover," Shota said, voice uncharacteristically fragile and fiery. "_Years_, spending _my_ money, living in _luxury_ without so much as a lifted finger to your own benefit."

Jong scoffed. "Don't be touchy."

Shota took another step back when his brother approached him. "I said _stay_ over there. I'm warning you."

But Jong came ever closer. "I _am_ trying—" Shota launched him into the freezing pond with a shoving kick to the gut that forced coughs from his hoarse throat. "What the hell—"

"You have to try _harder_!" Shota hissed as his brother picked himself up.

"I am, asshole! God, that's fucking cold!" Jong held his arms as he hurried from the water, luckily, only his pants and shoes soaked to his skin.

"Why are you doing this?" Shota asked, trading his face of the pain in his heart for a dangerous scowl. "Don't give me excuses. I want the truth. Why are you resisting so _damn_ much? Do you know how much this sucks for me?" Thickness rose in his face, clogged his throat, but he continued, forcing his trembling voice to roar. "For our mother, and everyone else who gives a bloody damn about you?"

"I don't know."

"Yes, you do. Now, would you just say it?"

"I don't do it on purpose!"

"Stop. Tell me why."

"Easy, pup."

"_Now_."

"I keep telling you—"

"_WHY?!_" Shota advanced on him, despite the height his brother had over him, unblinking eyes piercing. Jong stepped back and looked down, to the right, anywhere but his brother's eyes.

"Just… I'll get to it. I promise, all right?"

"_You _told me to _wait_, that you'd have it all together by now—which you _don't_," Shota spat, hounding his brother down until the latter took another defensive step back, "and now you're making _promises_?!"

"It's hard! Okay?!" Jong admitted, shoving his older brother back as far as he could, regretting it immediately when the pro-hero staggered into one of the swing set's supporting poles. "Shit," he said, "I'm sorry." He came over and straightened out Shota's jacket and fixed the black waves that fell in his eyes. Shota squinted, withholding his anger. "You don't understand how much of a goddamn break I needed, pup." Normally, in the event that the two got physical, Shota would retaliate just as hard, if not, harder, than Jong's initiating blow. But this time, he did not move. "I need a break."

Shota considered this, of course, but the well-exercised rational portion of him disregarded Jong's excuse. "Then, you don't need my money." He clenched his fists hard, sensing his brother's whirlwind of emotions as his own—worry, anger, guilt, sorrow, helplessness. "I'm going to tell you something I've never told you before, so listen up. I've been where you are now. Six years ago, when I left Shikoku. Remember?"

"When you ran away from home? Yeah. I remember." Shota drew a sharp breath, but said nothing in defense. He remembered how Jong towered over him after a year or so on the streets. He remembered the lost time forced into the sewers, along with the memories they shared of their childhood, of cackling piggyback rides and wasted allowances on pounds of melting ice cream in backpacks. "What're you getting at?" Jong asked, hoarsely, sitting on the bench with sore eyes dragged away from his brother. "You were a D-boy or something?"

"I was an addict. Never sold, but…" Shota sighed after a pause. "Alcohol, prescription, street. All the bad stuff you're playing with, _I've_ played with. You understand?"

"So, what did my 'big' brother do next?"

"Mum and Dad took me to rehab, too, and I came out on the other side."

"Freaking whoop-de-do."

"I wanted to give up so effin' bad," Shota admitted. "And I almost did. Three times. But I just…didn't. I thought about our family."

"What's your point? Think about the family?"

"That's only the framework, Jiggy," Shota explained, sternly. "The rest is up to you. _You_ work, _you _push through the cravings and the withdrawal and all the other _shit_ because it's not just about you anymore. It's—" Too many words would not work on his brother, he knew. This was not about him or his struggles or his success story. This was about Jiggy. He sighed in the trepidatious silence between the two of them. In hushed tone, Shota directed, "Look at me." Jong lifted his head as told, eyebrows sagging over his red eyes. "Until you prove you _want _this, you don't need my funding. You come back when you're going to make it worth my salary or…" _Don't come back at all_. He wanted to say it. But something, he was uncertain what, blocked it. "Or find someone else to help you."

Jong snickered, bitterly. "Whoa. What happened to the old Shota who always protected me from Dad's whoopings?"

"That's putting it lightly," Shota joked, darkly. But he stopped himself there, remembering that his brother knew nothing of the scars Tsubasa left on his body. So, to avert Jong's attention, he continued on, "You're nineteen now, not nine. You have to grow up, and you're going to do it now. Without me, if you're going to keep being _this_ difficult." A stray snowflake landed on his eyelash, melting from the heat emitted from his face. He flinched, "Wanking…_eff_," and scrubbed it away.

"You okay?" Jong asked, cocking an eyebrow.

Shota regained his composure and re-solidified his sturdy grimace-and-glare. "What I said before still stands."

"Shota. I need you." Jong wiped his nose on his sleeve again. "Please, bro."

The U.A. teacher stuffed his hands in his jacket's pockets to shield them from the stinging chill of fallen ice. "You have five seconds to show it."

"Five seconds?! Are you kidding me?"

"No. Know why? Because my lupus-ass is freaking cold. Three seconds."

"I'm your brother!"

"And I'm _your _brother, so you'd think—" Shota looked at his slippery shoes for a moment, listening to the echo of his voice fade to nothingness. "_Look_. I've tried every trick in the book. Every _single _one of 'em. If you want to change, you change. I can't hold your hand through this anymore. I have a kid, and she comes first," Shota said, shoving down his rage with deep breaths. "You'll always have my support. And I love you, Jiggy, but if I have to cut you out, for my child, I—" Shota stopped, swallowing and holding his breath, holding the true but harsh words back. He blinked quickly and shook his head in disappointment. "_Eff_, this hurts."

"Yeah, some pro-hero you turned out to be." Jong kicked a rock into the sandpit. "You're flipping the switch on me just because of some snot-nosed brat."

"Do _not_ speak of my daughter like that."

"I'm your brother! I've _been_ here! She's not really even yours—"

"She's my daughter, Jong!" Shota finally screamed, whipping around, catching the attention of the occasional late-night bystander. Jong tripped over his feet as his shorter, older brother advanced dangerously on him. But Shota stopped within arm's length, glaring with all Nine Circles of Hell in his narrowed eyes. "She's mine! She _needs _me!"

"Look—"

"If you can't handle that, then wherever it is you go and whatever other mess you cause," Shota hissed, "don't come near us. Unlike the way we were raised, the parent always puts the kid first in my house." Silence overtook the scene, with either brother gazing into the other's eyes, one stunned, one outraged.

Jong stared at the whirlwind that was his livid brother with wide-set eyes, baffled at this sudden outburst, and speechless at this word-in-stone resolve, unsure where his defenseless, stuttering Shota went. "Shota, I need you, too."

Hearing this, Shota's exhausted eyes slit when his ruthless scowl tightened, considering, denying, wondering, ruminating. He looked away from his brother for a moment, down at their shoes, for a moment of forced rational thought. He shook his head to himself, to Jong's horror.

"You can't just leave me," Jong guilted.

"I'm not. But you need to figure this out if you want me to pay." Jong slouched at the news, casting his eyes from the unshakeable leer of his brother to his hands. "I'm not going to enable you any more than I already have. I haven't been the best brother in that sense." Shota came a tad closer to his brother, speaking gentler, but still as firm and to-the-point. "Jiggy, I'm not leaving you again. I promise."

"Well, fine, but—"

"—_But_…you gotta make a hard, _hard_-ass decision, and you gotta make it now. You understand?" Shota emphasized as his brother looked back at him. "And if that means we have to fight every time, then fine. But my money for next month comes with trust _and_ results."

"You really are turning into Grandpa Sheeran," Jong groaned. "Or is it the teaching job that's making you turn into Top Mom?"

"Hilarious." Shota's eyes drifted to the left where the rehab's company car pulled around the corner, relieved that his scheduled text message had sent on time. Five minutes ago, more than enough time to privately speak to his brother in length. "Well, then…" He awkwardly, weakly opened his arms and averted his gaze to the swing set. "C'mere. Come get it. You gotta go."

Jong followed his eyes, standing. "Damn it, Shota." After a moment of hesitation, he grabbed Shota in a tight embrace. "You always were the sneaky type. You got me."

"Sorry," Shota said, half-muffled by Jong's shoulder. "It's for your own good." He pulled away after a short time and righted himself, shoving his hands into his pockets and making for his car. "Tell you what. Give me a good month, all right? No resisting or sneaking around or running away. You listen to these people and you take that shit to heart. Do that, and I'll keep the bacon coming. Be an A-plus student and I'll do the numbers. Deal?"

"You've changed, pup." Jong watched him closely. Growing up, Shota had always carried himself like he was expecting to be jumped. His expression remained more or less the same, but his body language was now stronger, sturdier, like carved granite that dared the world to move it. A presence. "You've…changed. A lot."

"I'm a father now. Of course, I did." Shota rubbed the back of his neck. "You can, too, if you'd let yourself. So, what say you?"

"Yeah. We got a deal. I'll try."

Shota gave him a short smile, which was returned when he messed up his tower of a brother's hair. "Then off you go, you li'l wanker." Jong laughed at the play and let his brother lightly shove him toward the car. "Go, before I kick you back into the water."

With his own amused grin, Jong flicked him off as he waltzed to his primary counselor, who smiled in relief. Nodding at her, Shota dragged himself back to his car and plopped down in the driver's seat, finally shedding his mask. The other car's headlights disappeared within seconds, leaving him alone in a dimly lit cul-de-sac.

In the privacy of the car, Shota drew a trembling breath and blinked the tears from his eyes, though his countenance showed no proof of their presence. "Please, God…" he muttered, leaning his head against the headrest. His eyes drifted to the green-lit clock on the radio that read 23:07, so after turning right on 29th, he pressed the #3 speed-dial to call his grandfather and held his phone to his ear.

Sheeran picked up after a half _burr_, hissing, "_Young_ man—"

"Dad, it's too late for a lecture." Shota opted to activate speaker mode and set his phone on the next to the gearshift. "I know, and I'm sorry I ignored your calls."

"You ignored my calls?"

"Uh. No."

"Did you find him?"

"Uh. Yeah."

"Is he okay? Was he high?"

"Kind of. When I found him, he was on the tail-end of it all." Shota jerked his car to the left at a greenlight. "About 10 miles from the center."

Sheeran yawned. "Wow. Okay. So now what?"

"Well, I told him that unless he quits being stubborn, I ain't gonna pay for his treatment next month. Told him to give me a month of top-class behavior, and I'd keep refueling. I think it hit home."

"Seems like something you'd do, pup."

"Yeah… He went quietly."

"Huh. All right, then. Good boy." Sheeran paused for a bit. "Sorry all this got shoved on you, pup. It's all right to ask me and your Mum for help. And your mother, too."

"No, Dad," Shota said. "It's fine. I got it."

"Shota—"

"How's my El-Belle? She still asleep?" Shota asked without a breath or much a pause. "Any nightmares? Did she call for me? Did she finish her dinner, 'cause sometimes she likes to test—"

"_Shota_," Sheeran said, chuckling. "Calm down. She's just fine. I told her you'd be home very soon and she fell asleep easily. Ate all her dinner, too."

"Good. What'd you feed her?"

"McDonald's."

"Of course, you did." Shota smiled a bit, mindful of his speed when he noticed a police car turning onto his street. "What'd she eat?"

"Double cheese with extra pickles and onions, like her daddy." Shota's smile widened a little. It was irrational to get emotional over a fast food order, but he did. Unapologetically. "You knew I'd take care of it, pup. Told you not to worry."

"Then good work to you, too, young man."

"Don't you test me at this hour. I'll paddle your butt the moment you pull up." Shota laughed, and after a moment, so did his grandfather, relieved to hear such a rare sound. "You getting in the car now?"

"Naw, I've been driving. Ten minutes out, or five if this cop makes a turn off my street."

"What did I say about the phone behind the wheel?"

"That if I'm a bad-ass, I could do it." Shota switched the heater to a slightly lower setting, smirking at the exasperated sigh of his grandfather. "Kidding, kidding. I'll see you in a moment, then."

Sheeran hummed, skeptically. "All right, kid. Be safe."

"Yes, sir."

When he arrived home, he thanked his grandparents for their help. He invited them to stay for the remainder of the night with promise of breakfast, but they insisted on getting their money's worth at the hotel before returning to Shikoku in the morning. He watched them go, waited until they turned the corner to go back inside. Afterwards, Shota checked on Eri, who was asleep in their bed. She was snoring lightly with her horse plush in one arm and his necklace in the other hand. Shota kissed her head softly, whispering to her, "Daddy's home."

She peeked at him in the midst of her slumber. "Hi, Daddy."

"Hi." Shota pet her head. "Back to sleep, now." She hummed, letting her eyes fall again and hugging her toy. Her father remained there for a moment longer, listening to her breath, watching her sleep.

And then he went downstairs.

He went directly to the fridge, but not into it. Rather, reaching to the top where his collection of alcoholic beverages stood at attention. He snatched the rum bottle and a short glass, placing them on the counter nearby. The caramelized liquor swished against the glass as he hurriedly unscrewed the cap. He poured a pint, then paused to study the sight. He glanced at the full bottle, then shut his eyes. "Don't," he pleaded himself, or God, or both. "Don't do it." He debated pouring the drink back into the bottle, but when he brought the cup up to the nozzle, his hand gave unrelenting pause. Jong's drug-beaten appearance flashed in his head again, so he shook his head. But the image returned full throttle, this time complemented by the upcharge in his brother's residence bill, due to misbehavior. Shota opened his eyes only to have them already set on the liquid savior to his left. "Goddamn it." He downed the glass first, then left it on the side, taking the bottle.

Then, he secluded himself in the garage containing nothing more than a few unpacked boxes (his mother's photo albums and other junk he told her to throw out years ago) with the bottle. By the time he sat down on a stepping stool, the bottle was already halved. But when he looked at the liquid sloshing around, Jong's bloodshot eyes and his foolish words revisited his mind, and blinding rage overtook his conscious. He took another harsh swig of the alcohol, barely reacting to the inflammation of his throat. Aimlessly glancing from box to box, he hoped to distract himself with some speck of dust or stray piece of something random in one of the pack-aways. He glanced at the box of his first drafts for the successful novels he had published years ago, at the primitive sheets of new instrumentals and lyrics that brought in some good bank. But nothing could will his mind from Jong. Nothing else mattered but Jong's life. Scowling, trying to understand why his brother insisted on being stubborn when Shota literally had laid out all the to-dos of rehab, Shota's racing mind nullified the creaking noise of the heater activating. He took another merciful drink of rum.

When he looked through the glass bottle—chilled by wintry air, but warmed by his grasp—he realized the print of the label swam along with the inch-worth of liquor. He tried to read the label, the huge print of the distributors, to find nothing more than black and red splotches. Jong, again, forced himself into Shota's alcohol-infected mind:

_You don't know how much of a goddamn break I needed._

…_too busy…to help your own brother!_

The bottle exploded against the wall, staining it and the paved floor, with Shota now standing, watching the liquid bleed across broken glass. With that single, fury-influenced move, he was left breathless in his emotion with nothing more to gain from it than a dirtied section of the garage. One more thing to clean up. He raked his fingers through his hair and pulled hard on the scalp, shredding away his nonchalant composure and pent-up stress and sorrow, and squatted down with his head between his knees as if to contain any further outburst, to block out anything outside his own space—but, simultaneously, wanting to be anywhere else beside his own mind.

Suddenly, he could not breathe. He could not bear to look at himself in the mirror after such irrational behavior, but he could feel his pupils dilating and the room spinning in furious circles round-and-round, and round-and-round, and round-and-round again, and again, and _again_.

He tugged on the collar of his shirt for breath as his heartbeat weakened his entire being.

When he attempted to stand, his knees buckled hard at every pulse.

He collapsed back to the floor, leaning against the slippery wall with no other thought than: _Jig's going to kill himself._

Memories of his mother sobbing over his father's death raced into his mind like lightning flashes. Death, the formidable, merciless enemy of man, something untouchable, undeniably strong.

It was coming. It was coming hard for his brother. But who would be next? Would his mother be next? Or his grandparents? What if it's Eri? One of his students?

Was it him?

He couldn't breathe.

It was coming. Too fast. It was always too fast.

He was always too late.

He could not breathe. His vision became bordered in black shadows, and his muscles cramped agonizingly, but he could not even make a single sound—

"**Daddy?"**

Shota immediately turned towards the voice to see his daughter standing there at the door, wiping her heavy eyes.

Eri came into the garage, ignoring the chill of the cement. "I heard yelling. Are you okay? What's wrong? You're so pale." Without a noise other than hyperventilation, he could only stare at her. Eri's eyebrows drew up in concern. "Are you…crying? What happened?" Without knowledge that he had been, Shota shook his head, trying to calm himself and tell her everything was going to be okay. But his voice could not be found. Eri came over and sat on his lap, keeping her eyes on him the entire time. He smelled…different, like sweet chemical or burnt marshmallows. It was in his hair, his breath. "Daddy?" Her eyes welled up and she placed his necklace back over his head to find his heart _pounding_ against his sternum. "Oh no…" With nothing else coming to mind, Eri slowly, carefully, wrapped her arms around his neck and pet his hair and back, kissing his sweat-matted head—things she learned from him whenever she cried—and said in a hushed tone, "It's okay, Daddy. I've got you. Everything is gonna be okay now. You're home safe, okay?"

Finally finding his voice, Shota attempted, "Daddy's fine. Go—"

"I'm here," Eri said, firmly as her young voice would allow. "I'm here for you." Shota's shaking arms struggled to return the embrace, but she continued, "Don't. Just breathe, okay? Please?" So, he did just that, taking slow, deep breaths, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. It took about five more minutes for the attack to pass. Eri leaned back when she felt his heart slow, and wiped the heavy sweat and tears from her father's face. "It's over now, Daddy. All better?"

"I'm sorry," Shota said, genuinely embarrassed, praying he had not scared her too much. He took her up in his arms when he realized that she too had been crying. "Daddy's sorry. I'm here."

"It's okay. I know." Eri rested her head on his shoulder and relaxed under his gentle hand on her back.

"Come on," Shota said, moving to stand. But when Eri clung to him, he supported her with an arm under her and held her close. "I didn't mean to scare you, honey."

"I know."

The pair went upstairs back into their room where he set Eri down in bed and waited for her to fall asleep before kissing her head and taking a shower. Afterwards, he snuck under the covers and pulled her into his arms, finding something like safety in the scent of her hair. If one thing was certain, he knew he had made a difference in this young life. Nothing would ever come between him and his baby, he vowed. And that was enough.

...

_** __Song credits__: "Chasin' You" by Morgan Wallen (2018)_

**Good job, guys! That was 26 pages! Thank you for reading this far, and on to come!**

**Don't forget to R&R!**


	6. Chapter 6 - Of Broken Halos

**A/N:** Hey, crew! Sorry it's been so long, what with school and a lack of motivation to edit this damn thing! But I got it out, and some! Hope everyone's got a great kickstart to 2020! Thanks again for sticking with the story this long - you all are Plus Ultra folks!

_Please R&R _\- it's much appreciated!

And so, here we go!

**Chapter 06 Of Broken Halos**

"Mommy." Shota gently pulled on the thick quilt that hid his mother's sleeping body. The night was eerily quiet, save for her light snores, and he wished nothing more than to hide in his mother's arms from the darkness. "_Mommy_." Yoko groaned and flung an arm at his head, missing him entirely. He grabbed and tugged her loose arm now, a tad harder. "Mama, I ha-had a bad dream. C-ca—… _Can_ I sleep in here with you?"

Yoko jerked her arm away from him, now wide awake in the darkness of the house. "Quit snatching at me like you're a goddamn cop. What do you want?"

Shota fidgeted with his fingers. "I'm sc— scared. I h-ad a bad dream."

"So? It's a dream. It's over. Go back to bed already."

"_N-no_, I'm too scared. I w-ant to be with you. Please, Mama?"

"Shota," Yoko snapped, stale sake on her breath, "knock it off before I whoop you. Be a man."

Like any other child unable to get his way, Shota's eyes welled up and thickness overtook his throat. "I don't want to be a man," he pleaded with great effort. "I wa—…want to be with you!"

Tsubasa sat up quickly. "What's going on?" He plucked up the clock on the nightstand, illuminating his wrinkled features in red, and plopped it back down in a clatter. "Jesus, it's two in the morning."

Yoko turned and kissed him in greeting. "Sorry, babe. _Shota_ had a nightmare and now he's insisting on making me lose sleep." She scoffed at her son's reactive expression, blind to the actual harm of her words. "From the smell of him, he probably wet the bed, too. As _usual_."

"What's up, you?" When Tsubasa stood up, grabbing his walking cane, and started coming around to the far side of the room, Shota squeezed into the wall, pressing his back as firmly as he could into the structure while keeping his eyes focused on his stepfather. "What's this I'm hearing?"

"N-n—" Shota swallowed. "N-_nothing_."

"What's going on?" Jong asked, scratching the sleep from his eyes. "Dad?"

Tsubasa sighed heavily at the five-year-old. "Nothing's going on. Your big brother's just having a moment."

"I'm f-fi— I'm fi-ne. I'll g-go back to bed," Shota stammered. But when he tried to leave, his stepfather stayed him with a large paw of a hand on his arm. "I'm ti— I'm t— _tired_."

Yoko rolled her eyes. "After all that bitching…"

"I'll handle it," Tsubasa said, calmly. "You've been working all day, so I got him." He stalked out the bedroom, tugging Shota along unreasonably hard, and turned to his son. "Go back to bed." With a moment's hesitation, Jong returned to his room, as told, and shut the door.

"I-I'm f—…_fine_. I'll go b-back to bed—"

"Will you knock off that damn stutter?" Tsubasa spat, yanking his stepson to the living room on the far side of the house. "Are you retarded or something?" With more words trapped behind his chest cage, the child simply shook his head. "Come here," the man said, yanking further on to a calendar, marked up in green and red circuits with scribbles and circles here and there. He moved his grip from the boy's arm to his hair and urged his face to said calendar. "You see this shit? What is that?"

"Y-your wor— _work_ calendar."

"See how crazy that looks?"

"Uh-huh," Shota replied, wincing at the iron-grip on his hair, willing away tears of pain and fear.

"I can't afford to wake up in the middle of the night," Tsubasa hissed, "just because you had a goddamn nightmare!" He shoved the child's head away from him, causing the latter to lose balance and fall on his rear. Stupid, weak, little thing, gawking up at him as if _he_ were the bastard-child of two Quirked-up freaks. How Tsubasa hated those fearful eyes, that little noise the child made whenever he was pulled at. The little shit could use some toughening up, and how fortunate he was to have such a generous stepfather. While Shota stammered away in a jumbled apology for waking everyone up, for not finishing all his food during dinner, and for even asking what was for dinner that night, the man growled, "Stop crying."

Shota had not noticed the wetness upon his face until then. "I—"

"_Don't_ talk back!" Tsubasa advanced on him, which prompted him to scramble back into the wall, unable to stand. A hauntingly silent moment passed, save for the child's hitched breaths as he begrudgingly stared into his stepfather's unforgiving eyes that seared holes through his skull. He nodded quickly in submission. Tsubasa squinted at those pleading wood-like eyes, at the child's wobbling chin, at the way he scrunched into himself against the wall like a _goddamn coward_. Tsubasa ordered after a considerable time, "Get up."

Shota, as soon as the man backed away, curled more into himself, hugging his arms, but he stood anyway. He did not know what else to do but what he was told. "I w-wa-nt Mommy," he pleaded, receiving nothing more than a glare and eerie silence.

Tsubasa gritted his teeth. "Hands on the wall."

Unable to bear the weight of such disdainful eyes, Shota looked at the planks in the wall with trepidation, how the wood mocked him, spat at him like his stepfather had. With no other choice, he slowly put his hands on it.

Tsubasa's fatty hand snatched his head and forced his nose to the panels. Then, he bent over to Shota's ear level and hissed, "I want you to remember this, boy, because you made me do it…and you deserve it."

Shota's small hands balled into fists. In his mischievous endeavors (or in her fits of drunken bitterness), his mother had spanked him on multiple occasions. However, a lingering heaviness in his gut warned him Tsubasa's version of discipline would exceed any prior experience.

"If you scream…" Shota immediately looked at his stepfather's cane when the fat hand lowered its grip, hoisting it up like a baseball bat, "we're doing this all over again." With an accurate prediction, the child slammed his eyes shut to brace, but to no avail. And the cane raised and ripped through the air—

Shota's shoulders hiked up in a violent flinch at a sharp noise, his working hands still, a cleaver in one hand and a slab of cooked chicken in the other. He had gasped uncharacteristically at the sound, but fell into paralysis soon after, eyes pinched shut, holding his breath. Prisoner to his memories, to that familiar sound, he remained in the stupor of fear, of anticipation, of dreaded waiting.

Eri peeked around the countertop, holding her plastic horse toys and offering a sheepish smile at him. "Sorry, Daddy. I dropped my toy."

Shota looked at her immediately, but, in truth, he had not heard a single word. Regardless, he offered only a shaky, warm smile, knowing if he chanced his voice that it would only crack or wince. For the next hour or so, he spoke minimally, but he was sure to keep his expression casual and calm. Luckily, Eri had been more talkative than usual, informing her father of the interactive adventure she had seen on _Dora the Explorer_ while he cooked the next room.

But that night, despite his efforts to numb such memories, he dreamt of his hellish childhood, but in morphed renditions—mixed versions in which gripping hands snatched at his body from all, unholy angles. Red lights on bare skin, rather than moonlight bouncing off Tsubasa's cane. The bodily odor of his assaulter that haunted his young adulthood mingling in the tobacco pheromones of his stepfather during his childhood. Once he had escaped one pursuer, along came the other, and vice versa. An elongated misery with only the other as promissory divergence from the first.

Shota jolted awake in the midst of the night, freshly matted in sweat, gawking at the ceiling fan that swung around too subtly to cause a gust. The sting, the throb, the scars that had only begun to heal (and the literal ones on his back that only faded a bit—thanks to Ryo's aloe treatment during his high school career) seemed to resurface all at once in a hellish sensation that forced him to sit up and hug himself. A position unsuitable for the night-dwelling pro-hero who bravely confronted the League of Villains and Overhaul's cronies without hesitation.

Through his shirt, he could still make out the burning groves of his stepfather's cane across his back, horizontal to his spine, so he leaned back against the wintry bedframe to protect and cool himself. He recalled, in this moment of privacy, every 'whooping' that punctuated his childhood, every night he spent, shivering, silently sobbing in his closet after Tsubasa was through with him—knowing all too well that if he was caught crying, only another caning was to be expected, slowly beating away pieces of him, knocking his original self away and manipulating him into an unexpressive, logic-only, distrusting mass of dejection.

He remembered escaping Shikoku at eighteen, fresh out of U.A., and running to the Main Island with nothing more than the clothes on his back and a guitar case—and the shit that came soon after. The pill-popping, the bottle-inhalations, the lung-killers. Starving, wasting away, failing.

Tran. That bullshit contract sealed by snatching hands. Those filthy videos that paid too well. How all he could offer himself in the grand scheme of the life he crafted for himself only bred more self-hatred.

Tsubasa came back. That night Shota had remembered in the kitchen, as his stepfather warned him not to make a sound, he did scream—in fact, he screamed every time for eight years until the late night he ran from that house, and Shikoku in entirety, after Tsubasa's cold _don't scream_s had long-since morphed into sinister _scream all you want_s. He thanked the Lord Eri had not noticed his off-ness during the rest of the day. It was a personal belief of his that while his life thus far had not been the most fair or comfortable, if his kids and daughter would learn something from his subjections and mistakes, all this misery and trauma and struggle would have been well worth it. He repeated this notion in his head as to reconcile his hardships with his resolve: _It would be worth it. It would be enough. It will _all _be worth it._

Gripping the collar of his shirt with one hand and his hair with the other, disallowing his own self-comfort, he murmured, "This is irrational." He was twenty-four and a pro-hero, a fighter. Tsubasa could not hurt him anymore. Tran and his 'business' were history. He was grown and he was off the streets. "This is stupid."

He took a breath, finally, and swiped a hand along his face to push the sweat into his hair. But when he reached out to his side, his hand felt nothing, save for sheets that faintly clung to last trace of Eri's warmth.

"El?" He looked around, scanning the room. Getting out of bed, he stalked to the bathroom to see that neither the light nor the hallway light was on. "Baby?" he called again, louder, as to fill the entire minimalist house with his voice. From the loft/bedroom, he could see the kitchen light on—no, just the fridge light. Checking the far digital clock from his nightstand, he could make out the time as 00:46:57, and decided to descend the stairs, quietly, though, out of habit and precaution. But then he noticed a small figure with hair the color of snowfall crawling into the fridge, sitting on the bottom-loading freezer, and reaching for something deep inside the larger compartment. He flicked on the kitchen light. "El-Belle," he said softly, careful not to scare her, but failing, as her shoulders jolted and she looked back to see her unusually wide-awake father rubbing his neck. He squinted from the blaring light. "You hungry?"

Eri shrugged. "I just wanted some yogurt and fruit."

"Okay." Shota cracked his neck to each side as he slugged over to the girl, plucking her up and then settling her on her feet, taking another mental note of her featherweight. Scowling at the six-pack of nutritional smoothies for toddlers, he hissed through gritted teeth, "'Kids grow twice as fast' my ass. You bottle of lies—"

"Daddy, why are you yelling at the fridge?"

"I'm not yelling. I'm discussing…" Shota shook his head. "Never mind. Thinking I should move all the sweet stuff to the bottom shelf, huh?"

"Nah-uh. I can climb."

"I don't want you to climb." He extracted a chilled yogurt cup, strawberry, and handed it to his daughter. She pointed at the fruit tray, beside the vegetables, and nearly hopped in excitement. "Let me guess," he chuckled, "apples?" She nodded quickly. "Sliced?" Another nod. Shota rolled his eyes, took a sparkling red apple, and theatrically groaned, "_Fiiiiine_." With the little girl following not far behind, he plucked out a small plate and a knife and started chopping the round fruit into canoe-shaped individuals. "You didn't get full off of dinner?"

"I did, but I just got hungry again." Eri peeked up at the plate, barely being any taller than the countertop, but Shota muttered for her to be careful of the knife, and she took a cautious step in the other direction. "How do you cut it like that?"

"Well," Shota explained, "everyone has their own way of doing it. I just chop the whole thing in half, then again, and then again, and all the way until…uh, well, until there's nothing else to cut."

"Whoa."

"I'll show you when you're a big girl." Setting the knife to a safe place, he slid the plate over to his daughter. "Here ya go, piglet."

"Thanks, Daddy." Eri took the plate to the table and hopped up on the chair, stuffing her mouth wide with the fruit.

Shota picked out a napkin and a cupful of water for her, breaking into an amused smile when he saw the condition of her table manners. "Slow down." He placed the three in front of her before returning to the cupboard for another plastic cup for himself. He hoped Eri would not notice the stress-induced perspiration upon his skin and shirt or spot the glint of fear in his eye—a look she now knew from his anxiety onslaught in the garage. But child or not, she was sharp of eye and ear. "So," he threw himself in the chair across from his daughter, "I guess sleep's not on our mid-week schedule, huh?"

Eri shrugged, a small dimple poking into her cheek when she pursed her lips. "What do you usually do when you can't sleep?"

Shota chuckled, tragically. _Well, you're asking the wrong person_. He took a drink of water. "Sometimes, I watch TV or grade something. Other times, I just…think."

"Think about what?"

"Uh, I don't know. Life…?"

"_Life_?"

"Uh-huh. Just random stuff, I guess." Shota furrowed his eyebrows in consideration, resting his cheek upon his palm. "So? Why're you up, besides the munchies?" Eri, taking note of the worry in her father's softened expression, thought it foolish to further add to his concern. "You can tell me."

"I'm nervous about school next week." Shota nodded, having already suspected as much. "I know everyone has to go and you're gonna tell me that I'll be okay," Eri said. "But what if I'm not? What if they try to hurt me? What if they're mean?"

"If they are," Shota said, "then I'll beat 'em up. All you have to do is call." He smoothed his frayed bangs from his face, raking them to the top of his head. "_But _I'm sure everyone'll be nice. It's a good school, good teachers and kids." _It _better _be_, he thought, _with how high tuition is._

"But what if they're nice when people are looking, and mean when they're not?"

"Hm?"

"What if they just hide how mean they are? Will you still come?"

Shota thought hard, falling quiet for a short moment. He considered her past, Kai's group, and how they twisted her trust. But hearing her second question reassured him that she rationalized his presence as guaranteed safety, that she knew who would save her time and time again. So, he said, "Of course. Your old man's good at spying on people."

"Really?" Shota nodded. Eri blinked twice, realizing the tenseness in her mind releasing bit by bit. "I'm…happy, I think…'cause you'll save me if things go wrong."

Shota smoothed her hair, resting his chin on his other palm. "Remember what I told you the other night?"

"It's not okay to go into the bathroom when you're about to use it?"

"_No, _not that." Shota sighed, rubbing his eyes. "But that, too. Let's keep that one close. I was talking about the one I said after you tripped down the stairs."

Eri's short brows furrowed. She had been running around the house that afternoon, making her horses stampede and race, and whatnot. Shota had just started dinner about ten feet from the stairs leading from their loft bedroom to the kitchen/front door/dining room. On the final lap, after being warned by her father not to run about twice already, Eri's heel slipped.

Luckily, Shota, fed up by his daughter's distracted disobedience, had moved from the stove to the bottom of the staircase to stop and scold her. He noticed her off-footing three steps before it happened, and lunged up to catch her just before her rear met the hardwood structure. Because of this, he had to give her a quick talking-to. Even minimalist-style houses could be dangerous for five-year-olds.

"'I will always protect you,'" Eri said, finally. She looked up at her father. "That's what you said."

"I do this thing called reverse thinking," Shota said, eyes ceiling-ward in though. Eri tilted her head, clenching her hands into fists. "Like, instead of thinking, 'what if tomorrow turns out horrible,' see how you feel thinking, 'what if everything turns out great?' Y'know?"

"I think so," Eri considered. She squinted to focus on her father's words, trying them out for herself. "What if tomorrow is great, and people like me?" A timid smile rose on her face, but the new method and words left her stomach a tad queasy and awkward. But despite her nausea, her heart _did_ feel lighter, and her mind less jumbled.

"And if they're _really _mean, if they touch you in a way you don't like," Shota said, unsure if he was giving the right advice, but trying, "then…you have my permission to punch."

Eri gasped a little.

Shota nodded slowly. "As many times it takes to keep yourself safe. Then, you run." It was the same advice his grandfather had given him when the family moved from Shikoku to the main island, so that Shota could go to U.A. on scholarship. Sheeran knew the other students would pick on his grandson—for one or the other: his accent, his height, his stutter, his lack of confidence, his lower-middle class status, his mother's career suicide, his bastard-ness from his parents' bad decisions. The list went on.

"I don't want to get in trouble." That had been Shota's response, too. To which Sheeran replied as Shota as a father chose to:

"'Course not. But if someone tries to scare you or hurt you, you keep you safe. Understand?"

"Yeah." Only difference was: Shota had lied. He never spoke about how brutally he was bullied and cast out at U.A. He came home with the same unexpressive face, flat voice, and dissociative attitude. But Eri, Shota could tell she understood him, and that she would tell him. She trusted him, after all. It had been proven.

Breaking the old, distasteful Aizawa and Fuse ways had been his priority the moment he decided to adopt Eri. Lay waste to the generational distrust, tension and avoidance dressed as rationality, substance and emotional abuse, and pity-births to save face and cling to cheaters and takers. Instead, he had long strived to establish a new Aizawa way: a path of empathy and patience, of putting the child first no matter what, and of sticking together to those one called _family_. It was a new, strenuous journey, and he already had had some stumbles and drawbacks of his own; however, he decided to put his stubbornness to good use and devote himself and his parenting to that philosophy.

Rarely, he felt motivated to such lengths—only this time, his motivation was to be the best goddamn parent he could be. He wanted to be someone Eri would be proud to say is her father. She deserved it, and more, always.

So, he added to take care of any lingering uncertainty inside her, "Tell the teacher to call me, and I'll come to you. I promise I won't be mad." And he meant it. Eri's trauma and associated anxieties were not her doing—why treat her like an inconvenience or frustration if and when she has setbacks? Approaching her and her dwellings with patience and empathy was best for her growth.

_That_ was rational.

Shota drew in a quick breath, remembering to breathe. Rationality, he deduced, was not the absence or refrain of emotion or concern for others to benefit the self; it was doing what was right, it was adaptability, and it was taking care of his. It was giving Eri her best shot. His daughter spoke, snapping him back to the here-and-now.

"Okay," Eri agreed, trusting her father's knowledge. She thought about his words, scrunching down her little eyebrows as if to begin fending off her learned meekness. She understood the significant chasm differentiating her father's protective sphere from Chisaki's enclosed realm. She acknowledged that with her father there would always be a stronghold to hide, to recover, to try again. And she knew that her father would _never _force anything on her or abandon her. "Yeah," she accepted. "Maybe…maybe I can learn how to be strong. I…think I can do it. I think."

"Baby steps, piglet," Shota encouraged. "I think so, too. I see how hard you're trying."

Eri nodded, staring into her lap for a moment before chancing a peek at her father, who smiled softly. She wanted to say something to him, but the words evaded her. So, she returned with her own timid grin that expanded into a drowsy yawn.

"Let's shove off back to bed, huh?" Shota gathered the plate and cups to the center of the table and stood, lifting and balancing her on his hip. "If you want to go to the park tomorrow, then I need you to go straight to sleep." Eri laid her head on his chest as he elbowed the switch of the kitchen light. "Deal?"

"Deal," was his daughter's last word as sleep overtook her. With a shift in her weight, her steady breaths puffed against Shota's shirt.

##

"Got'cha!"

Eri squealed in response, being thrown in the air and then caught by her father's hands. Hanging upside down on his shoulder, she laughed at the scratchiness of his stubble on her cheek when he kissed her. "No fair!" She scrunched up her shoulder to protect her neck from the playful attack. "You're faster than me!"

Shota chuckled, swinging her around in circles a few times. "Well, then you have to get crafty." He flipped her upright and set her on her feet. "Probably shouldn't run in a straight line. Or towards me."

"I got scared!" Eri admitted. "You're too fast!"

"Then, speed up, piglet," Shota said, then outstretched his hand to her. She took it, hopping along. "It's getting late. What'cha want for dinner—"

"Shota?"

Shota froze, eyes widening as he stared ahead. Eri tilted her head to the side to look at him, noticing that his hand had not closed over hers when she held onto him. Slowly, he turned his head over his shoulder, chancing only a glance at the face he knew was there. Him, but aged with graying hair.

"Shota?" Tsubasa asked, almost as if his stepson stood in transparency before him, like an apparition of some sort. "Shota. It's been a long time." Shota remained there, gaping, unblinking, clutching Eri's hand. "Who's this?" Eri opened her mouth to speak, but decided against it, considering her father's haunted expression. If such fear rendered Daddy speechless, motionless, then she should especially be cautious. She pressed her face into his leg, keeping one eye on the foreign man. "I didn't know you had a kid."

"D—" Shota attempted. Instead, he hastily guided Eri behind him, hiding her. "D-don't."

Tsubasa squinted, shifting his weight to the side with the aid of his dented cane. "What was that?" He sighed and subconsciously rubbed one of his thick shoulders with a callused hand. "Oh. Right. You still got that stutter."

"N—" His palms, Eri noticed, were terribly sweaty and quivering, the firmer he held onto her. "I ha— _have_ to go." He took a step backwards, stumbling when he caught Eri's foot under his. At the sound of his daughter's wince, he glanced quickly at her. "Oh, crap."

"That hurt…" Eri mumbled, voice quivering.

"I'm sorry." Shota quickly kneeled down, locking eyes with her between her peeks. "I'm so sorry, baby. Are you okay?"

Eri nodded with a pout—

"I thought we could talk. Catch up, maybe." Shota froze with that haunted expression again. "Shota?"

Rather than answer verbally, Shota tightened his grip on Eri, freezing all over again. Tsubasa's limping footsteps neared him from behind, and Eri could feel his hands growing clammy against her shirt. Before she could comprehend, Shota lifted her and squeezed her body against his, and desperately stalked out of the area. He ran past bystander after nosy bystander, and did not stop until Eri could see the black Chevelle that awaited them at the curb. Shota fastened her into her car seat with stuttering fingers. "Daddy?" Eri asked. Her father shook his head, never meeting her eyes. "Daddy?"

"Sh." Shota shoved the door shut, darted to the driver's side, ripped that door open, plopped in, turned the key in the ignition, shifted gears, and accelerated quite unpleasantly (for Eri) out of the parking lot, cutting off a minivan that was going twenty-under, but felt inclined to honk, nevertheless.

"Where are we going?" Eri tried again once they were safely on the road, en-route towards the longer, back way home. "Dad—"

"_What_, Eri?" Shota nearly snapped. "Huh? What?"

Eri, taken aback, remained quiet—he had not even peeked at her in the rearview, as he normally would, nor had he asked her opinion, as he always made sure to. The harsh tone of his voice aside, his entire manner of handling her strayed from behavior she had learned to associate with her gentle, but firm Daddy—the Daddy whose single glance of his honey-glazed eyes could prove that she meant the universe and more to him, a man so (surprisingly, and secretly) full of love and affection that one might mistake him for another person. Eri squeezed her hands together and shook her head.

Nothing more was said for the rest of the twenty-minute drive.

Once home, Shota unbuckled Eri in the same careless manner—and in that scurrying, Eri noticed his pupils were terribly dilated and his skin paled to a sallow, clammy color—and placed her on her feet, slamming the door and locking the car twice as he dragged her further inside the house, slamming that door, as well. "I need a minute, so go play in the living ro—" Finally, he noticed it. Well-trodden tears stained Eri's downcast face, lowering her brows and quivering her lip beyond console. But to his further horror, he realized the massiveness of his hand that grasped her fragile wrist. "Crap," he muttered, letting go of his daughter.

Eri gripped the edges of her dress, unwilling to make eye contact with her father. In the quiet of the house, her quivering sniffles could just barely be heard, as though she was trying to hide them. Scared. Suffering. In silence.

Shota slowly knelt down, never taking his loving, regretful eyes off her. "Eri, baby, I'm sorry." She slowly wiped her eyes and nose on her jacket's sleeve, whimpering, but still not making full contact with him. "I don't know what hap— Well, I do. B-but I didn't mean t-to—" He sighed, trying to organize his words, fend off the untimely stutter. "Lo— Listen. That man you just saw… He…hurt me when I was a kid. He hurt me bad many times. That's why I— No…"

Eri sniffled. "It's okay, Daddy."

"I was scared," Shota admitted in a cringing, quick voice, making her finally look at him. He gave another sigh, as if he had been holding it for minutes straight, before looking back at her. "I still get scared, sometimes. I get so scared th-that…that I have to get as far away from him as possible."

Eri said nothing, simply watching him fight to speak, watching how his eyebrows lifted and dropped as he spoke, counting how many times he broke eye contact. Instantly, she remembered his back. The scars. His flinching. That man that Daddy ran from… It was his fault. He hurt Daddy. She knew the feeling. In the time prior, it was all she knew. Hearing her father's voice again, she looked up immediately.

"—But that doesn't change that I shouldn't've taken it out on you." A moment passed, with Eri processing and recovering, and Shota watching and recovering. Slowly, he cupped his daughter's wet face with his hands. "Daddy's so sorry, sweetheart." Never one to beg or plead or even act as if he _genuinely_ needed anyone's presence, he neglected to realize this apology existed as the closest thing to such raw emotion he had felt yet. Not that, in this moment, he cared. Relieved to have her Daddy back, Eri pounced on him, throwing her arms around his neck. So, as always, he plucked her up, supporting her weight with one arm and rubbing her back with the other hand, and stood, swaying her. "I know. Daddy's being a butt-face, huh?"

Eri gripped an onyx wave that fell from his head and held the familiar-smelling lock to her face, finding solace in the warmth it carried. But for the rest of the day, her father was still…off. As he cooked dinner, he was staring just over her head, prodding at the stir-fry with loosely gripped chopsticks. Eri figured he needed quiet, so she continued her coloring.

After a moment, she heard the sound of wood clattering and her father hiss as he flung out his hand a few times, "_Shit_! Ow…"

"Oopsie, Daddy," she said, scribbling over the lines of a yellow octopus.

"Huh?" Shota glanced up at her for a moment, then back at his hand as he thrusted it under the faucet. "Yeah. Sorry, baby." His off-ness was apparent throughout the rest of the evening, and he even forgot to pay his curse balance of five bucks. But Eri did not want to remind him. She just wanted him to smile again. When Shota tucked her in to bed, he stood at the stairs for a moment longer than usual. Eri sat back up in question and called for him. He ducked his head and came back in, crawled under the covers while gathering her in his arms, saying, "Daddy doesn't want to be alone right now. Sorry." He fell asleep holding her, and she spent some time playing with his bangs until she too was whisked away by the lullaby of his light snoring.

—**tomorrow—**

Shota ripped open the large door, reading 1-A down the length, with a scowl fit for a creature of the nine tiers of Hell. "I don't understand _why_ I can hear you from my office." The entire class fell deathly silence, each sporting an expression of pure terror. "Good morning," Shota said, entering. But rather than the yellow sleeping bag, he was holding Eri's hand. The students snuck little waves and smiles to the little girl, who wore a long, purple raincoat and a lavender dress with white stockings under—an obvious contrast to her father's one-tone black attire and doom-impending countenance. "Or at least it _was_ until I heard all your babbling mouths…" Shota set Eri's Rapunzel backpack on the teacher's desk, lifting Eri to sit on the tall chair, then shifting his entire disposition, to his students' dumbfound, he said to his daughter, "Sweetheart, Daddy has to work now, so can you please sit still?"

Eri nodded quickly, cheeks a tad pinked from the audience of twenty, gaping teenagers, some _aw_-ing, some just staring. "Yes, Daddy."

"Thank you." Shota tapped her nose and then turned back to his class, now with his everyday mug. "All right, you guys. I understand you're all waiting for your ten-week progress reports. We'll be having a second homeroom meeting today after fourth period so I can give them to you." He heard a few gasps and mutterings, but ignored it.

"Wait!" Ojiro raised his tail as his hands slapped down on the desk. The spokesperson, it seemed, for the rest of the gawking class. "_Sensei_!"

Shota cocked an eyebrow. "What?"

"The rumors are true, then?! You adopted Eri?!"

"Yes, sir." Shota said simply. Eri looked up in hearing her name. "She's my daughter." The entire class _aw_-ed and murmured amongst themselves in response, and Shota pulled a face. "_Aaaawww_ yourselves. Stop it." Everyone laughed a little before the teacher continued. "For now, we have other things to get to. Today's a field day. We're meeting All Might and Vlad King at the U.S.J. for another citizen-retrieval exercise. So, get dressed." He pressed a button on a controller taped to the podium, allowing twenty selections of costumes to slide from the wall cabinet. "Meet me by the stairs when you're done and we'll head out to the bus."

"Sir," Sato raised his hand as Shota retrieved Eri, adjusting her bag on her shoulders. "Are we going to be in groups today, or is it more individual based?"

"I'll answer all your questions along the way. We don't have time to waste. Get to it."

"**Oss!**"

—**minutes later; U.S.J.—**

"The exercise is simple. You're in a team of three—since Aoyama and Koda are out today with illness, we have six teams. That being said, you'll each have to cooperate, strategize, and execute the mission in the safest way possible. Remember: these are _civilians_, people who are terrified with minimal combat and survival experience, meaning they are prone to act irrationally. Practice the social and communicative skills you've accumulated thus far, and get the job done."

"**Yes, sir!**"

"I don't have the patience to hear any bickering today, so let's keep that to a minimum. Capisce?"

"**Oss!**"

"All right, then. Since his class is on a field trip with Mic today, Vlad—"

Groans and eye rolls overtook 1-A.

"_Hey. _Be respectful."

"**Yes, Sensei…**"

"As I was saying," Shota continued, giving Vlad King a subtly apologetic nod, "Vlad, All Might, and I will remain as anonymous as possible, but we'll be keeping tabs on your groups. Good luck."

"**Oss!**"

"Well said," All Might complimented as the students ran to their respective zones. "I do hope they excel today, not that I'd be surprised."

"They're competent, yes," Shota said. "But don't fill up their heads just yet. There's always something in need of progress."

"Isn't that the truth…" Vlad remarked.

"I haven't had my coffee yet. Do _not_ mess with me."

"Now, now, young Aizawa." All Might tried.

Shota did not even look at him, instead keeping his eyes on his students branching out. "Don't baby-talk me. I'm a grown-ass man."

"Yeah. Okay." Vlad King said.

Shota glanced at him, disinterested, but still irked by his commentary all the same, with a little fire added to his usually half-lidded eye. "Do you want death?"

"Hey, you two…" All Might said, holding his hands up. "This isn't the time for fighting."

Realizing the truth and rationality in his words—and hating it—Shota scoffed and turned his attention back to the field with an almost pettish twitch in his brow. "Look alive, Ms. Ashido! Get to your starting point!"

"_Oss_, Sexy—"

"_Mina_."

"I mean, 'Sensei'!"

Shota sighed largely as she ran off to join her team. "_That_ one…" He looked over at Eri sitting on the bench with her coloring book and horse toy. He was relieved that the events of yesterday had not much affected her, that she trusted him when he said he was sorry. Relieved, but still quite remorseful that he had let his anxiety cause him to be frigid toward her. He had to make it up to her—nothing overbearing or extensive, though. Just a simple visit to her favorite pho shop a few blocks passed U.A. or another visit to the park. Something like that.

"What's this?" Vlad King said, louder than necessary, catching both teachers' (and Eri's) attention. At the sound of crumbling paper, Shota already knew and froze. The Blood Hero hummed, scanning over the print. "'We wish to communicate to you that due to your dependent's recent indulgence in unknown, harmful substance, we are required to increase the price of homage.' Hm," Vlad King said, locking eyes with Shota, who snatched the paper back. "Isn't that something—"

"That is _none _of your business." Shota shoved it back in his pocket, deeper this time.

"Who's this dependent?"

"Doesn't concern you."

"So secretive."

"_Doesn't _concern you, Vlad. Christ."

All Might put his hands up. "Guys…"

Vlad added, "Sounds like a druggie, if you ask me—"

"Well, no one did," Shota retorted quickly. "Everyone has their responsibilities. Back off."

"Sekijiro, come on." All Might turned to Vlad King. "Leave him be."

The second homeroom teacher scoffed, crossing his arms. "Don't make _me _look like the bad guy here."

Eri, from the desk and chair in the corner where her father had instructed her to sit, looked at her coloring book in question. What were expenses? Druggies? The half-colored image before her was of a house with a dog fetching a frisbee, a rather human-like grin stretching its snout. She gave the house a shade of purple and an orange roof, deciding whether or not to color the grass a light or dark green hue. Absentmindedly twirling a red crayon in her hand, catching a thin lock of her hair, she glanced up to realize her father had disappeared. Panicked, she scanned the open area from the chair, and was instantly at ease when she spotted him on the far corner, squatting down to give Mineta advice. Her father shooed the student away after receiving a confident thumbs-up and stood sluggishly to return to the other teachers.

"…incapable of nurturing an already-problematic child," she heard the teacher in red hiss, attempting to be quiet.

The skinny, tall teacher with yellow hair said with a sigh, "You don't know that. Is it really too much for you two to get along? Seriously…"

Eri tilted her head, engrossed in their words. Vlad King scoffed. "All Might, you've always been the hopeful type. Some people just don't mesh well. You have to live with that."

"I know you're right," All Might admitted. "But I've never been one to sit out and watch a fight roll out."

"Who's fighting?" Shota asked, returning, though his attention remained on his phone. He scowled at it first, then cocked an eyebrow at them.

"No one. We're just having a conversation."

"Ah." Shota scrolled a few times before glancing up at the students' progress. "Sorry," he said to All Might and Vlad King. "Could you watch them for me? Eri, too, please. I have to make a call."

"Sure thing," Vlad King, surprisingly, spoke up.

"Thanks. It'll just be a sec." Shota paced from the main observation area and stood by the far door. Clicking a few times, he placed the phone to his ear and turned his back, shoving a hand into his pocket.

Eri watched him, her coloring dilemma forgotten for now. He glanced at her one last time and nodded to show everything was fine. He mouthed _stay put _to her, so she did.

Shota's eyes averted toward his phone, then down to the floor. "Hi, I'm calling on behalf of my brother. Jong Hoga? He's one of Dr. Maki's patients." A pause. "This month's payment, actually." He squeezed himself closer into the wall, hushing his voice. "Shota Aizawa. His brother?" Annoyance slumped his shoulders, hooded his eyes. "The same person whose been paying for his treatment for two years now…? _That _Shota Aizawa…?"

Eri focused hard on her father, trying to hear, though she knew eavesdropping defied his rules. He turned, listening eagerly to the other side. She saw his eyes hit the roof before closing. She knew her father grew snappish whenever he had to do certain things, mostly tedious things.

He noticed her eye again, and held out a staying hand to her. "Jesus, you people… Just—" He stopped himself, shoving a hand into his pocket. The

Eri wondered what the other person was saying.

"Because it's bloody ridiculous." Her father listened for a bit before storming over to the exit door, hissing, "I _understand_ that. But I've been trying to contact you for days now, and it seems the only way I can get your _fleeting _attention is by calling you during school hours. _Might _I remind you that I'm a high school teacher?" The door closed with a short, assertive bang.

Eri hopped to her feet by natural response to follow wherever her father went. But she paused by influence of another natural response to listen when he told her to stay put. So, there she stood by the desk, glancing between her coloring book and the door that had swallowed her father. At a loss, she remained there and pleated the cotton fabric of her sleeves. Shota's voice traveled through the wall in muffled murmurs and inaudible irritation. Whatever the person on the other line said must have angered him. She did not know what exactly was going on; all she knew was that whatever it was, it was upsetting Shota. Her father was a man who handled himself quite well (aside from annoyance and disgust), so to have him evacuate so abruptly brought worry to Eri's conscious. _What should I do? _she thought, switching her eyes from the other teachers, who were not at all concerned, and the door with her father's silhouette.

Since the night that she had met her great-grandparents, when her father had gone out only to come home with an anxiety attack, Eri had been extra vigilant when it came to his moods. She would peek at him while he cooked, taking note if he hummed or went mute, if he stared ahead rather than down at the wok or pan or chopping board. She would sneak out of bed during nap- and bedtime to see what he was up to and how many times he sighed or raked his bangs from his face, risking a short lecture. And at least three times a day, she strived to make him smile or laugh by any means necessary, urging him to play with her toys or the cats. One occasion she nearly dragged him from his desk to play hide-and-seek-turned-tag, knowing all too well that she would be viciously tickled once found. But it made him smile to see her smile, and her to see him smile.

She heard Shota sigh and then say in a withdrawn voice, "I'm sorry for my rudeness. You're just doing your job."

The answer materialized before her in an instant: to ensure her father's happiness, she had to be the best daughter in the world. She had to be perfect in every way, follow his every rule, and pick up her own slack to ease his load. She would never ask for anything else than to have Shota be the happiest person on Earth. Contemplating her resolve brought an inspired smile to her round face and she could not wait to see her father's stress decrease. She could not wait to see him smile at her with nothing but pride and love.

That would be enough.

**R&R, please!**


	7. Chapter 7 - Tin Man's Heart

**A/N: ** Here's another one!

DISCLAIMER, people: _This chapter contains a more-or-less graphic/suggestive scene of sexual actions. _

Figured a warning was in place, even though I wasn't trying to be blunt in my writing. More so, I hint and imply the more in-your-face content. But that's why my story is rated M!

Enjoy! _Please R&R_!

**_..._**

**Chapter 07 Tin Man's Heart**

"You ready?" Shota asked, as he adjusted Eri's backpack on her shoulders, kneeling down to her eye level, as always. Her eyes, though, were averted to the other world on the opposite side of the green-tarp fence, where curling slides and dual swing sets stood tall and proud, where the hard cement was traded for cushioned sand, where the only adult in the sea of children was a fairy-like lady named Ms. Akiko. She was a teacher, like Daddy, but she looked too short and frail to carry and play with her the way her father always did. But Eri could tell just by studying the content lift of the woman's chin that she must be intelligent in an amiable way. "El-Belle?" She looked to her father's eyes. Shota, though with his usual unimpressed sag, gave an encouraging nod back. The morning sun gave his irises a splash of honey where the rays hit through bushy trees. "You can do this."

"What if I can't…do this?" Eri asked, calm beneath the storm.

Shota thought for a moment, resting his arm on his knee. "Well, I know you understand how to solve some things on your own. But if you can't…" He rubbed the back of his neck. "Do you know Daddy's number?"

Eri's short eyebrows drew down in concentration as she gripped her dress. "685-888… Um…"

"Uh-huh?"

"4848?"

"You got it. Here." Shota quickly took a pink marker from his daughter's backpack and scribbled the number, along with an _I love you_, on the inside of her elbow. "_Only_ in the case of an emergency. Capisce?"

Eri stared at the pink writing with wideset eyes filling with water, but she quickly wiped them away and nodded, dutifully. "Okay!" Shota stood and she took his hand firmly, trying out her bravest face as they approached Ms. Akiko.

"Eraserhead!" Heads turned, and Shota growled. The other teacher skipped over to the Aizawas. "Good morning."

"Morning, ma'am," Shota accepted. "How are you?"

The woman curled her breast-length hair with her finger. "I'm doing marvelously this morning. I'm honored to teach your beautiful daughter."

"Thanks." Shota brought Eri to stand before him and put his hands on her shoulders. "It was a bit of a tussle, but we got through it." The girl looked up at her father the same time he looked down at her. "She's a tough girl."

Ms. Akiko's constant smile never faltered even an inch. "I can tell you're very proud of her. And I can tell," she said to Eri directly, "that you really love each other."

Eri's face instantly pinkened, and she turned to hide in her father's leg. Shota rolled his eyes, amused. "Eri. Come on, now. Say hi to your teacher."

Only a single ruby eye appeared from the safety of Shota's pants. "Hi."

"I'm sorry. As tough as she is, she's also _very_ shy."

"Not a problem," said the woman. "I remember doing this with my boys."

For the sake of conversation, Shota forced himself to laugh a little (it was nervous sounding, but good enough). "Perhaps a good shovel would do the trick." Ms. Akiko laughed and brushed her hair behind her ear. Eri's horn dug into his thigh, enough to make him wince a little. "Sweetheart," he said, looking back down at her. "You're horning Daddy. Easy."

"You're making a fish face."

"_Eri_." Shota gave another forced smile and said to the teacher, "I'm sorry. If I could have a moment with my daughter. Isn't she just the cutest little…" He dragged Eri to the side and knelt down quickly, turning his face back to a stern expression. "All right. What's the problem, missy?"

Eri's unwavering scowl was his answer.

"Huh? You don't shove your horn in my leg just because you're upset. It hurts."

"You're acting weird."

"What?"

"I said you're being weird!"

"She's pretty..."

"She has cooties, and so do you! You only give _me_ your cooties! It's not fair!"

"Okay, okay. Hush," Shota said, feeling every other parents' eyes on them. "Rewind. That all came out _really _wrong." Eri pouted, pulling at her skirt. "That aside… You can do this. I know you can. Don't think about me or your teacher or the other kids. You do this for you."

"I don't want you to go," Eri explained, forgetting about her outburst and Ms. Akiko.

"I'll come back."

"I don't _want_ you to go."

"Sorry, baby. Daddies can't be here."

"But…"

Shota sighed quietly, studying his daughter's face. "Walk with me a second. Come along." Standing and shoving his hands in his pockets, he walked to the other side of the small playground, dodging racing children. Once at the green tarp-covered fence, he nodded at it and then looked at Eri. "Touch that." Eri stretched out her hand and felt the plastic, then glanced questionably at him. "Hit it. Go on." Gently, she poked it. Shota squatted down again and made her tiny hand into a fist. "Right. Punch it." She did—softly, then a tad harder. "What happened?"

Not quite sure what he was talking about, Eri looked at the tarp. "It…looks the same."

"It didn't break. Right?" Eri nodded. "Now, don't be scared. This is gonna be loud." Shota formed a fist, too, and rammed it into the fence. The entire fence rattled, causing Eri to jump a tad with a curious tilt to her head soon after. "What happened here?"

"It still didn't break," Eri said, more confidently this time. "And you scared the other parents."

Shota chuckled. "Yeah, well… My point is: with how strong I am, I still couldn't break through that." As if to confirm for herself, his daughter reached over to feel his firm bicep and then the thin tarp again. "You're safe in here. Nothing can hurt you while you're in here, even though I'll be somewhere else for a while. And once school's over, I'll be right over there." He pointed to the same tarped door where the crowd of parents were leaving. "I won't leave until you come to me."

"What if I miss you?" Eri tested. "What if you take home another girl that looks like me?"

Honestly, Shota wanted to laugh, but he knew she was serious. "That won't happen. I know my baby girl." He tapped the pink marking on her arm and smiled. "And I'm right there. Yeah?"

Eri nodded after a moment of consideration. "Yeah. Right there."

"Now go on. Make me proud." She leapt into her father's arms, throwing hers around his neck, cheek nuzzled against his stubble. "Give me a kiss." And she did, a quick peck on the lips, as always. "Love you."

"I love you, too." Eri let go, gripped her backpack straps, and turned to the classroom. "See you soon?" She looked back at him with wider-than-usual eyes.

"See ya soon. Remember what I said to do if anyone hurts you?" He held up a hand.

"Punch!" And she did, as hard and accurately as she could.

"Yes, ma'am." Shota pretended to shake out his hand, making her giggle. Then he turned her back to face the classroom. "All right, now. Be my strong girl." He playfully swatted her butt to propel her forward. Eri nodded quickly, biting back a smile. Her father waited there, squatting still, watching her hesitantly, but slowly approach the classroom door, where the teacher welcomed each of the kids with a high-five. He stood, but instead of shoving his hands into his pockets as usual, he picked at his palm and bit down hard on the inside of his cheek, waiting, almost expecting another rain check.

Eri gently high-fived her teacher and he could hardly contain—

"_YEAH_! SCORE! _WOO_!" All eyes—parents, kids, teachers, and Eri—darted quickly in his direction. Shota, now weary of his surroundings, looked around awkwardly and laughed lightly in humiliation, waving at his daughter. "Bye, baby." Eri waved and went inside. He rubbed the back of his neck. The other parents, with chuckling dads and wincing moms, watched him under shielded gazes. Shota, with a face scorched by all this, almost robotically turned on his heel and evacuated to his car, where he banged his head on the steering wheel about five times, saying, "Stupid, stupid, _stupid_" at every self-punishing hit. Staring at his knees, he found himself praying for Eri.

But as he watched his daughter, his little girl, enter the classroom with a potential new friend (even though they were both giggling at his outburst), he breathed a long sigh of relief in realization that maybe…maybe he really was a good father (a comment subtly dropped by Bakugo in their private talks, as the two had grown quite close again, not that Shota believed him much at the time). A good father who had been blessed with an angel of a daughter. The thought of that sustained a certain, proud glint in his usually sagging eyes that only a parent could know all the way until he arrived at his (loud-as-hell) homeroom class.

But this extra flight in his step died within ten seconds after he opened the 1-A door to see what all the commotion was about. And what he saw were students wrestling, others actually about to fight, all the girls shouting with their phones out, a massive cursing contest in which the main voice he heard was Bakugo, and then there was Iida, who was attempting to quiet everyone at once. Shota let out a long sigh, so far unnoticed by his students, until he activated his Quirk and— "I DON'T RECALL SIGNING UP TO TEACH _PRESCHOOL_!"

The freshman class shrieked in horror, ranging from "_Oss_, Sensei!" to "Sorry! Yes, sir!" and finally to Sero's cry, "Medusa-sensei!" After all the collective screams, the room struck silent with tenseness. It was unusual for their homeroom teacher to scream upon entry.

By the way Midoriya shot his arms to his sides and looked down, and the harsh scowl on Bakugo's face and slouch of his posture, Shota already knew who started the class civil war. Blinking to deactivate Erasure, he growled, "If I can hear you from outside the building, there's a problem. You might've gotten away with that nonsense in middle school," he said, shutting the door, "but not in _my_ class. Not unless you all want detention on the field today. _Understand_?"

A shaky, collective "yes, sir" dragged through the room.

"Sit. Down." The students scrambled to their assigned seats. At the podium now, he let out a long sigh to calm his temper and now with his usual sluggish tone and his granite-like expression, he continued, "Good morning…_children_." Another collective shutter cut through the space, with almost every student avoiding their teacher's glare, murmuring greetings. "For the sake of time, we might as well kick off our literature lesson. We'll end at our usual time, regardless."

"_**Oss**_**, Sensei**."

"Open your books. 74. William Blake." The entire class groaned and reeled out a single Bible-sized textbook with a pink, water-painted cover, entitled _Romanticism_—modest, subtle, and to-the-point, just like their teacher. "'_Uuuuuuuugh_' yourselves. I'm not taking your crap today after all that nonsense."

Somewhere in the room, he heard some voices mutter "I wasn't even making noise" and "_he_ started it."

"Here we go. After intro, we'll start with 'The Shepherd' from _Songs of Innocence_ first, then the sister poem, 'Earth's Answer' from _Songs of Experience_. Pay close attention."

The class soon after quieted down after a flurry of flapping pages and whispers.

Shota cleared his throat, glancing at the clock. "_So_, here we are. With the close of the Enlightenment—a time celebrating science and rationality and the rise of prose, meaning novels, 'normal writing' as opposed to poetry—the Romantic Period spanned from 1783 to about 1830. Roughly." He wrote the key words and phrases of his lecture on the board, pointing here, circling there, drawing arrows to this and that. "Th— With this literary movement came the focus on a person's soul, his instinct, his psyche and emotion, and overall, what connects him to nature. Oftentimes, you will find the succeeding literary crusade, to be dramatic, will almost refute the previous. So, following the scientific observations of the Enlightenment," he pointed at the large writing, "writers turned their attention to the realms of psychology and nature. And this appreciation of new philosophies and sentiment, while most obvious in literature and art, carried into society and socialization in the public and domestic spheres. In and out of the home." He scratched his head, rummaging through his mind. "And so—"

_Brr…_

Shota pulled out his phone, scowling at it. "Sorry." Normally, he would not even care to see who it was, or that he was getting notifications at all. But he figured it might be Eri's school.

Sero snickered with some of the other students, "_Ooooo_. Sensei's on his phone!"

"Yeah!" Hagakure pointed out. "No phones during school hours!"

"Sensei's a rule-breaker!" Ashido joked.

Shota's scowl tightened. "_Hush_, all of you." The laughter died down to mutterings as he opened his email, the source of the disturbance.

_This is an informative message concerning your current trimester payment cycle. According to our records, your most recent payment, submitted on the 19__th__ of September, has shown to be insufficient in amount. _

_As our policy entails, there has been an added balance of $350 to the next payment date as penalty._

"Oh, shit," Shota whispered, earning a few gasps and confused mutterings from his students. He looked up at them, briefly. "Sorry, kids, I…"

"Sensei," Asui said, a finger to her chin in thought. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah," he said, frowning at the message. "I'm sorry. Just, uh… Discuss 'The Shepherd,' then go on to 'Earth's Answer' and talk about any similarities and differences you can spot with your classmates. Give me a moment." Shota hurried outside the classroom, dialing the number to his brother's center. The receptionist began the usual robotic greeting when he interrupted, "Yeah, hi. Sorry. I need to talk to my brother. Jong Hoga. It's urgent."

"And what is this concerning—"

"I need his opinion on a gift for our mother," Shota said, beyond irritated beneath the calmness of his voice. "He would want to be a part of the decision like a…good son, wouldn't you think?"

"Sure!" There was a smile in her voice that Shota interpreted as patronizing. He rubbed his eyes, trying unsuccessfully to calm himself. "I'll send you through."

"Thank you." He had said this as politely as he could through gritted teeth. He waited through _brr_s, hoping the monotone buzzing would ease his blood pressure. He already knew the source of the problem. He knew all-too-well. It was classic, addictive behavior to suck yourself and others dry of money to get your fill.

"Hey, pup—"

"You li'l shit," Shota spat, hushed as best he could, considering his twenty kids just on the other side of the door. He walked a bit further from the door. "You _goddamn_—! Where is it?"

"Where's what?"

"The money. _My_ money." Silence. Shota deduced in a hauntingly mocking voice, "Oh. Really? Don't have an answer? Can't give it to me straight like a big-boy?" He gave a twisted, dark, malicious smirk to conceal the raging beast roaring inside him. "Did you _really_ think I wouldn't find out? You think I'm stupid, don't you?"

"Listen. I didn't mean to hurt your wallet. Really," Jong said. "Besides, I just got back to the center. We only talked a short while ago."

Shota shot his hand out, giving a highly irritated smirk as he said, "_Motherfucker_!" He let his hand slap his leg as he continued, "I sp-_specifically_ said to _try_! Did I stutter?!"

"Well, yeah. Just now…"

"_Jong_!" Shota squeezed the bridge of his nose for a moment. "Explain. You got 14 seconds."

"You're crazy."

"12 seconds."

"You of all people should know, though, how hard this is. I need to ease into it—"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. _Me _of all people?" Shota snapped. "_I _got through it…! _I _put in the effort! It's—!" He glanced over his shoulder and moved closer to the window side of the hallway, lowering his voice to a hiss. "It sucks, yeah. But you know what sucks more? _Shitting _on the person who believes the most in you."

Jong sighed.

"You know they upped my payment for this? For a _second _time because of you! God-_damn_!" Shota rubbed his eyes. "How much?"

"I don't know. The head would know—"

"_No_! How much did you take from me?"

"Five hundred—"

"_Five _fucking hundred…?!"

Jong sounded squeamish: "Yeah."

"Jig, why? You think I can just cough up more money? Why would you do that to… I have a…" Silence. Shota rubbed his eyes, trying to calm himself to no real avail. After seeing Tsubasa yesterday, and with Eri, he did _not _need this nonsense right now. "Oh, my God. You know how much money I pour into you as is?"

"I'm sorry, Shota."

"You're _not_."

"But you have to understand—"

"Find someone else," he said in a voice and expression of granite, of heartbreak covered by a wall of safe dissociation. "I'm done…and this time, I mean it. I literally cannot support you anymore."

"You're just gonna give up on me—"

"Now, you _stop_ right there!" Had Shota not been on the phone, he would have noticed that his class as well as Vlad King's class fell deathly silent, as if he were scolding them. "I have slaved away trying to make sure _your _irresponsible ass gets clean! I've been patient enough! I've burnt myself into a rut paying for your shit!"

To his left, Vlad King came out of his class, scowling. "Hey, Eraser—"

"—So, if you even think for a _second_ that I'm gonna keep up with this nonsense, you're terribly, _terribly_ mistaken!"

"_Eraser_!"

Shota ripped his phone from his ear, taking some hair with him, and whipped around to face Vlad King, "_What_?!" The other homeroom teacher pointed to the right, staring at his rival as he went back inside his own class. Shota followed his finger to his own class door, which was cracked. His class's eyes peeked through the crack, and when he looked, they all scurried back to their seats. He sighed, and put the phone back to his ear. "Jig. Call Dad."

"Grandpa? Why?"

"Shut up. Just do it." Without waiting for an answer, he hung up. Raking his fingers through his hair, he growled to calm himself. "Sorry, Vlad," he said, shaking his head and scowling.

"Sure," Vlad King said, simply. "Don't go off and have a stroke. You're only twenty-four."

Shota chuckled, tragically. "Sure, yeah." He opened the door of Class 1-A after a moment. "Kids." Twenty pairs of wide, dodging eyes met his. He knew they were expecting to get scolded for listening in on his call; but he also knew he had barked up the entire freshman floor. So, instead he bowed his head to them. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean for you to hear any of that."

"Is everything okay, Sensei?" Asui asked. "From the sound of it, you were in some heavy disagreement."

Shota shoved his hands in his pockets. "Uh…yeah. It's nothing to be concerned about. Siblings..."

His mind drifted to a secret stash of cash, well-hidden, well-guarded in his house. The remainder of his blood money earned from desperation during his previous homelessness. He _could _use it to pay off the rest of Jong's stupidity. He had not touched it since he got it at twenty. His final paycheck in the darkest of occupations. The director seized his mind and he winced, a violent shrug of his shoulders and far-off stare that made his leg give when he took another step.

"Y'know what," he said, trying to keep his face and voice stable despite the fact that he needed the podium for support. "Class dismissed, kids. I'm sorry. Take this time to study or train on the P.E. field. I'll sign it off as independent study period."

"Are you…okay, though?" Jiro asked. "If you need help, Sensei…"

Mineta spoke up, his lisp hissing, "Yeah, sthir. We could totally call for the nursthe."

"I'm fine. Now, just shove off to…wherever. _Au revoir_." Shota, as subtly as he could manage, focused on keeping his expression still as he tried to recover breath. He knew Bakugo was already staring at him, that Uraraka wanted to insist that he go to Recovery Girl, so he kept his eyes on the other kids. The less stubborn kids who dared not argue with him. He whispered _see ya_'s and _oss_'s to the kids, who passed by while muttering "See you later, Sensei" and "Feel better, sir" goodbyes.

He chanced a single look at Bakugo, then at Uraraka. Surprisingly, Midoriya, Iida, Jiro, Kirishima, and Kaminari took extra time packing up and were also sneaking worried glances at him. Looking back at Bakugo, he met his childhood-friend-turned-student's eyes, reading through his rough exterior, and shook his head slightly, then nodded at the door. Bakugo complied, and that seemed to be to influence the others that had stayed.

Once alone, he, as predicted, tried another step towards the door, and stumbled again. He caught himself on the chalkboard for a moment. "Shit. Not now." He left in short spurts of trip-walking, turning the corner and the next two until he was sure he had total privacy. Then, he exhaled. It had been awhile since he last thought of the director. Of his _contract_. "Damn," he said. "Come on, Shota. Stop it." He ran his hand over his face, but the moment he saw only blackness, he was back.

His trembling hands planted on the headboard of some cheap-ass bedframe, his arms drenched in sweat, his bare shoulder freshly punctured from his teeth. He could hear it all—the other man's heavy breathing, the mattress springs wailing, his own whimpers and gasps. That unclean agony caused his stomach to churn, and he thought for a moment that he would lose it in the middle of the hall. The red lights, the thickness in the air, the _stench_. Holding his stomach, his legs submitted to anxiety, and he sank down against the wall, staring at the blank wall under the water fountain, trembling. The only sound that came from him was a single whimper at the tail end of a suffocating breath. He silenced himself with a palm over his mouth, securing it with his other hand as every other muscle in his body cramped, as his eyes flooded with watery panic.

"Aizawa," Midnight asked, standing at the door of the teacher's lounge. She shut the door behind her and walked over to his side of the hallway. He jerked his head up at her, and she saw him there, lodged into the small divide in the wall, where two lockers could fit. "Whoa. Are you all right?" She bent down in front of him, touching his knee. "Aizawa?"

"What's going on?" All Might asked, suddenly behind her. He took a single look at Shota and felt his stomach drop, just watching him rock back and forth, studying the dilation of his eyes and sickness to his skin. "Aizawa…!"

"Don't freak out," Midnight said. "Let's all stay calm." She reached for Shota's arm, but he tucked it into his lap, shielded by his knees. The hands were everywhere again, gripping, yanking, pinning, striking. His breaths turned to hyperventilation, and his pupils had dilated so harshly that his brown irises almost seemed black. He was shivering through the sweat dampening his clothes.

"Shota— Ah, shit." Present Mic came to the other side, kneeling to his best friend. "Don't crowd him, yo. Back up a bit." He nudged Midnight and All Might a bit before averting his attention to Shota. "Hey, man."

Shota nodded simply, but his voice was gone.

"Not good. Shota, you hear me?" He nodded again at the Voice Hero, who removed his sunglasses to better connect. "You see me?" Another quick nod, but this time with a slight flutter of his eyelids. Midnight caught his chin just as he keeled over, and Present Mic urged his shoulder back against the wall. "No, no, _no_. Shota. _Shota_."

"Should we get Recovery Girl?" All Might asked, feeling useless. "Or Hound Dog? They're close."

Midnight shook her head. "No need." She turned back to Shota, listening to Present Mic when he motioned to keep their hands off him as much as possible. "You're gonna be okay."

Shota stared through them. "I'm sorr—… I'm fine."

"Okay, bruh," Present Mic said, calmly. It should be criminal to have him so composed. "Breathe slower. You don't want to pass out."

"I can always knock him out," Midnight suggested.

"'m _fine_," Shota insisted. "Relax."

"—Naw, girl. We can't do that every time he has these spells." Present Mic looked at his best friend, as if they were having a casual conversation. "Yo, Shota. Where're your kids?"

"Dismissed," Shota managed between breaths.

"All right. Slower, man. Breathe." Present Mic pointed at him with finger guns. "Let's slow this rave down to _smooth _jazz."

"You dumb ass…"

Midnight, watching Shota entirely, said, "Don't talk. Just let this basket case run his mouth. Calm yourself." She reached for him.

When she did, Present Mic nearly leapt from his skin. "_Wait_! Don't—! He doesn't—"

"He lets me." Midnight slowly wrapped her arms around Shota's neck, stroking his back with her long nails through his shirt, cushioning his head in her chest. Slowly, lightly, so that Shota's eyes began to sag again to his usual countenance, then again to that of near sleep. "There you go," she purred in his ear, still caressing his back, the scars. She raked through his hair with her other hand. "Good boy. And I didn't even have to use my Quirk." Shota said nothing. "Just a good rub, huh, baby?"

Present Mic placed his glasses back in place and stood promptly. "Damn, girl. That's _hot_!" He scratched the back of his hair. Between him and Shirakumo, back in olden times, the latter was better at calming Shota's anxiety attacks. But since their trio had been reduced to two, Present Mic recognized a gap in need of occupancy. Long since, he had learned how to alleviate his best friend's violent attacks. Or at least he had hoped that to be the case. "But that's…something I wouldn't do. Ain't my vibe."

"You're not the only one whose good friends with this hot-mess."

"Yeah, but _that _good of friends. That ain't Mic's jam."

Chuckling, Midnight kept up her work and looked to her coworkers. "I got him from here. Go on. You both have classes."

Trustingly, the two left.

A while of quiet passed. When Shota looked at her, she—the adult-rated hero—flushed and broke eye contact first. "What a look, Eraser." He snatched her wrist and yanked her behind him. "Hey…!" Midnight said, glancing over her shoulder to make sure no one else was watching. "Aizawa!"

"Hush," Shota snapped, dragging her through the hall. "Don't make another sound." He took her to the far side of the building, where the second years would gather for after-internship assembly, if they were not on a field trip. There, he reeled her behind the stage, where the lighting and stage direction occurred, and thrusted her into a small closet with props and whatnot. "Sorry." He locked the door, but remained facing it for a moment longer. "You know what? No. This isn't gonna happen." He went to unlock the door again when his coworker caught his hand.

"If you wanted to fool around, you could have just _said_ so," Midnight joked. "Not that I really mind it when you get rough."

For a moment Shota re-assessed the situation, the irrationality of his actions, and the possible consequence of absolute career termination if they were caught. But then Midnight's hands snaked up from his hips to his chest, stroking, groping. "This was a mistake." He jerked in fleeting resistance, something he commonly did when in a mood, but then her lips pressed to his neck and her hand caught his hair in a fist. "This isn't rational—"

"Or does it make sense just a little too perfectly?"

"No. We really shouldn't."

"Sh…" Midnight cooed, turning him around to thrust her leg between his. Those blue eyes haunted him, tempted him. "It's okay. Even big, strong boys like you need some pudding every now and then."

"This isn't right. We can't keep doing this."

"But you _need _this, don't you?" She took his face in her hands and kissed him softly, teasingly. She tasted like herbs and sweet oil, and her tongue gave a hint of citrus. A garden—a forbidden garden with one special visitor allowed. They parted lips quietly. He stared at her, uncertain, but ready. So ready. And she stared at him, determined beyond mere focus. "Well, hero?"

Eventually, he snatched the back of her head and deepened the kiss, his tongue exploring her mouth, licking away all the balsamic from her tongue. When she moaned, he hushed her by gripping her breasts, feeling up her hips to her sides, and forcing the zipper down her body suit. In seconds, her bra was carelessly tossed across the claustrophobic room.

"Excited?" she teased, eyelids hooded in the dim light. Shota had already climbed on top of her, attending to her breasts with strong hands, her throat with stimulating kisses. His stubble raked against her skin, and she giggled every time he pushed his face into the groove of her neck by her ear. "You didn't have to fake a panic attack—"

"That was real." In truth, though, he was excited…beyond excited. He was long deprived from a snug body in the night since he devoted himself to fatherhood. Their secret affair had been run dry in the passing months he spent tirelessly being as stable and strong and _perfect_ as Eri needed him to be. He never, not for a minute, regretted his choice to be a parent. He loved it, loved Eri, the moment he watched her sleep in the hospital's quarantine.

But he knew he was still a man. He _felt_ it in his dreams at times, other times while he was alone, driving or showering or even reading literature aloud for class discussion. He had fantasized about it in a daze while Eri was trying to talk to him—in which he decided enough was enough, and he had to do something to diminish the incessant, aggressive thirst.

Neither distraction nor starvation was the answer. Much different than the manner he was raised; once some outside force influenced homelife, it had to be confronted. _Don't bring that shit home_ was a mantra he repeated on the car ride home at the end of every day. Part of being a good father required that much, and more.

But…he was still human, still a man needing food.

On the cement floor of the closet, spiked by autumn's touch, Midnight moaned as Shota felt her, stimulating her body with finger-grazes while inflaming her mind with the mystery of his eyes—that feral glare in the shadowy space. Like a rainforest in at dusk, but his stare was that of a hunting panther. His cedarwood scent, his gentle kiss that rendered her desperate for breath, the savoring taste of caramel coffee in his mouth, the slight roughness of his nicotine stubble that itched her just the right way…

Her thong had been stripped from her, tossed by her bra in the corner. Much to her aroused oblivion, but Shota always worked diligently and smoothly when he was _really _craving it. She gave a passionate yelp at the presence of him near her entrance, teasing it, giving it enough warmth to tame her. She loved it, the tag-and-chase, and the _waiting_ and that he was the one denying her relief. Watching her unravel bit by bit, he gave her a devilish smirk. "Like that?"

Midnight's moan came in a quake of breaths and grips at his shirt and hair and neck, leaving impressions of her nails in his trapezius. "Yes," she hissed, unable to hold his gaze. Her legs quivered, her petals quaked with pulse, and sparkles of sweat emerged from her neck and brow. "_Yes_. More."

"Easy, love." He graced her another finger, petting, teasing, thinning her out as he took her lips again in the midst of her sharp inhale. Just as she urged forward to deepen the taste of him, he retracted a bit, smirking again when she lurched for him. "_Easy_. You have a class in an hour, don't you?"

Midnight's back arched at the same time she gasped at his touch. "You're the one coming for me, Mr. Aizawa." Softness from her fingertips slipped under his shirt, caressing along the horizontal groves in his back. Shota tensed up initially, but succumbed to the tenderness of her touch, kissing her neck, sucking the flower-scented skin that savored chemical. "Don't get it twisted— _Oo_!" Her nails dug into his skin as the craving intensified, as he allowed another curling finger to enter her wetness. She yelped: "_Shota_!" She needed this. She needed his body, yearned to feel him dip inside, _begged _him to, as their bodies met and rubbed against each other. He had not penetrated yet, but his handwork alone discombobulated her mind, seized her body. She never knew what it was about this particular grump of a man whose hair always smelled of nicotine or coffee—but she knew her body required his attention. Her back arched all too well to the curve of his name.

But then he stopped again. He shook his head, scowling in the dark. Moving away from her. "I'm sorry. No."

Midnight shoved Shota to the wall, roughly, both hands planted firmly on his chest. Her thirsting eyes pierced his, denying him leave, or relief of her explosive desire. Shota made a small grunt at the contact of the wall to his head, and glared seductively at her, expectantly. Her thirsting eyes pierced his, denying him leave, or relief of her explosive desire. "Stop running. I'm here. You're here."

"Don't be stubborn."

"We _deserve _this."

"Nemuri."

"Let me take the reins," Midnight engaged, fluttering her eyes at him, swaying her body at him as she clung to his leg with both arms. "Let me take care of you, Mr. Hero."

_Say no_, he chided himself as his heart pounded, his person clenching. _Just say no. This isn't rational!_ He bit down on his bottom lip.

"There we go." Holding his eyes, Midnight explored his body, hands sliding down his core, to his hips, to his thighs. Shota stifled a breath in anticipation, biting the inside of his cheek. But for irrational reasons, he always trusted her when it came to these acts. Midnight's precise hands teased his toned body, along the curve of his rear, clawing tenderly in the medial parts of his thighs, toying with the suffocated parts of his bare body under baggy clothes. Watching his strict composure dismember in her hands, she furthered his arousal by delivering taunting kisses to his hipbone, leaving welts in the dips between tight muscle.

Shota let out a rushed breath, gripping her hair gingerly. "Oh, God…" He knew their impulse sexing was an ill-destined reoccurrence since the first time, months after he started at U.A. He knew it would land him in heaps of trouble sooner or later. Hell, Ryo nearly found out after the meeting that allowed his adoption of Eri. He heard the kids' gossiping. Their luck would dry out in time. Did Nezu know, with his sharp-as-hell Quirk? Shota knew already: it was all his fault for saying yes. He shook his head. "This is…"

"Hm?" Midnight glanced at him, a developing hickey harboring beside his V-shaped muscles. An arrow to his sacred weapon. All for her.

"I'm…" Screwed? Twisted? A horrible man, teacher, pro, and father? Shota sighed heavily, staring over her head. "Just bad."

"Yes, you are." She undid his belt, whipping it through the loops so that it snapped against his body, causing him to shiver. Said startle fed her playfulness, and she smirked at him as she tugged down his pants and boxer briefs. "So, _so_ bad." Despite his scowl at her, she knew by the redness across his nose he was too excited to react in length. "So in need of punishing." He trembled a little, but swallowed and regained his composure. She took him out with stroking care, and fondled him with sturdy grips and relentless massages.

Shota moaned breathlessly at the violent arousal, at the frigid air biting at his bare skin. Had the metal door not been there, he would have broken his neck with how pleasure forced his head back.

"Quiet down for Mommy," Midnight cooed, tracing his jaw with a long nail, letting it trail down his neck.

Shota leaned his head against the door again, gripping the locked knob just over his head as she pumped him faster. "Keep going." He squeezed his eyes shut in an attempt to remain silent. It hurt—he was still dry, and the friction was building up, stinging. He winced at a particular catch of skin under her merciless hand. His first audible yelp.

"I _did _say I was going to put you in your place before we got serious."

"_Nemurishutupdamnit_."

"Hm?"

"I said…_shut up_." His answer was another burning pump that merited him to cringe. Against his legs' cries, he leaned against the hard door. Rock hard. At the electricity coursing through his hips, down his legs, to the soles of his feet, he gasped to alleviate the clench of his chest. He squeezed shut his eyes. "Jesus…"

But before long, probably about five minutes, she stopped tormenting him; instead, she comforted him by gently massaging the assaulting area with consideration. When he calmed, she chuckled. "Took it like a good boy." He groaned in response. "Now relax. Enjoy me." Midnight's cushioned lips spread over his person, causing him to hitch a breath and lift his hips for more. The hotness and moistness and madness swelled his face, pinched his skin red, and gave his appearance a heightened measure of disheveled. So helpless. But he said nothing, just breathed in and out, in and out. Again, it was normal for him to commit to silence when excitement trapped him. No matter—Midnight savored it as a challenge. Her tool of choice at the moment was to spoil him with her lips, the craft of her tongue. In time, her mastery prompted pre-cum—

Shota gasped. Then he breathed it out slow, chest falling again. The cycle continued for minutes, each lick and merited gasp growing in precision and volume. Eventually, he was aroused into submissive motionless-ness, drenched completely in sweat and complemented with new moistures.

Midnight smirked, kissing his lubricated member a final time. "That's a sight I like to see." Shota winced at her long nails lining his person, face redder, sweatier than hers. Helpless-looking, like a prisoner hanging by the wrists, near-collapse. "Give it up." With him properly prepared for it, Midnight resumed the handjob without concern for dry friction. He was all slippery. He would give her anything now.

Pleasure seized Shota. In the absence of pain, combined with the lingering, gushing arousal from the blowjob, he was truly coiled around her finger. She rubbed him all the way up, all the way down. And up and down, and up and down. Each part of his lifted member pricked for more attention, and was granted in seconds. His toes curled in. "_Ah_—"

"Give it all up for me."

"—shit…!" He would, he was sure, if he could. But his body denied release. But he was _right _there. So close. Too close—could people die from this, involuntarily refraining from climaxing? He was not sure. The arousal was too much and with no promise of relief. Was this some kind of cruel karma? He was not sure. Certainty only existed in the quivering of his entire body from Midnight's attention. He drowned in her, at her will, eyes closed.

Midnight stopped after what seemed an eternity, wiping her mouth, licking up the introductory liquids. Captive to the sight, his flush deepened. Under weighted waves and curls of sweat-matted hair, he shrunk into himself, into his mess of hair, in a type of grouchy shyness. He frowned at her, but his eyes were pleading for more. Powerless-looking. Midnight's favorite. "I _love _that beaten look on your face," she encouraged.

"Piss off, will you?" Shota heaved.

"Keep saying that. We both know you're about to give it _all _up to me."

"Don't get cocky." _Don't get your hopes up_.

"You're no fun!"

"Why play a rigged game?" Midnight's grip tightened, and Shota lurched back in a mixture of pleasure and pain. His teeth gritted, and he coughed out, "Okay, okay. I'll shut up." He let his head fall back. "I'll shut up."

"Good move, Eraserhead." She continued with her handwork on him, insistent on making him melt this time. Intent on breaking him, taming him.

Despite knowing that she could not—rather, _he_ could not—no matter how aroused he was or how much he cared for the women he laid with, he sat back and enjoyed her touch, staring at the fluorescent light. He wanted her body here and now. But, by routine disappointment, he knew he would fail to be satisfied. One would think a man of strict concentration and a daredevil sex life would have no problem ejaculating…

As usual, he knew to make up for his own shortcoming by ensuring Midnight would leave the closet a hundred percentage pleasured. Midnight breathed in a moan, "Put it in."

"Put the rubber on," was Shota's labored response.

"Don't need it."

"Put it on."

"—You can't bust anyway."

"Fuck you, Nemuri."

With a low chuckle, Midnight straddled his waist, his hipbones kneading into the inners of her thighs. "You know I love risky games. So, do me. Hard."

Shota lifted into her with his hips, and she gasped. Would have gasped louder, had he not covered her mouth. He exited and inserted methodically, building up heat and moisture each round. Each buck prompted a whimper, a moan from Midnight, rocking their bodies against each other, against the shining concrete floor. The single window that allowed only a bit of sunlight into the room fogged with ghosts of their colliding bodies. A pot upon flame with the top released. A mist engulfing them. A mist dividing them, when granted space.

The screen of visible sweat rising toward the ceiling, caressing the single lightbulb, gave the space a sopping warmth against the chill of the tension between them. Tension resolved by skin-on-skin.

Midnight continued grinding on him, spoiling his member in the rotations of her hips and warmth, and tossed her head back in ecstasy. She bit into his palm. A refreshing near-bust captured his attention, seized every muscle in his body in anticipation. But he knew all too well that this was as good as it was going to get for him. Always stranded just at the peak.

Amid his pleasure-filled daze, he stared at the red-dot clock above the door. 11:03.

He gripped Midnight's rocking hips, urging the rhythm to deepen further than what already made her scream. His toes dug over, his head tossed back, his eyes closed as the adrenaline crashed through every vein, every hair on him. He worked her out selflessly until warm thickness seeped from her, until she herself appeared more pleasure-beaten and spent than he. He watched her enjoy him, spoiled her rotten with the magic of his sex, and witnessed the formation of her downpour from his mountain. But he watched in envy and mourning of his lack thereto.

Abruptly, Eri raced into his mind. It was already past 11. School. "Shit." He urged Midnight's waist to steady with strong hands. "Wait…! Wait."

Midnight glared at him through her hair. "_What_?"

"My kid. I have to go," Shota stammered.

"You can spare another few minutes," she slurred. To convince him, she reeled up and sat back down on it in all the right ways to make Shota's body submit again. "Just relax, _Daddy_."

"Wait, stop…" The heat and moistness of her subdued him to an ecstasy of electric pleasure, prompting his self-control to wither, his near-bust to quiver in its stubbornness. "Don't…stop…" His body—his person, more like—screamed for more as he reached up to tend to Midnight. To avert her attention from his sad truth, even though she had been aware of it since their closet affair started. He urged himself into her, her onto him, with unrelenting grips on her legs, her rear. After a distracted few minutes, he snapped his head back and said more forcefully, "Okay. My daughter."

"Eri can wait—"

"No, she can't." Shota lifted Midnight off him, stuffing himself back into his hero costume, snatching his scarf and goggles. He ran his hands through his hair once.

Midnight scowled, not bothering to cover herself. "Seriously?"

"Sorry," he said, breathlessly. He dusted himself off and wiped the saliva from his neck and chest, and other liquids from his still-active member, with one of the hanging rags. He shoved it in his pocket to dispose of at home. He spit in his palm and rubbed his hands together to rid of stickiness. The door gave his rushing a stern pause, his grasp on the doorknob. He preferred not to look at her, but he did. In the eye. "I'm sorry, Nemuri. Really. About all this."

"Then—"

"I can't—"

And he left.

Shota raced home—windows down—for a quick and meticulous shower; and by then, it was almost 11:20. Eri would be out in ten minutes. He knew that, beyond his own pleasures and cravings, he could not afford to avert his attention anywhere else but his daughter. Sure, he was human in need of attention and nourishment; but he would not have volunteered to adopt if he was not prepared to make such sacrifices to give his little girl her best shot.

He thought of Midnight. Nemuri. Never before had he left a woman like that: unfinished, unsatisfied, un-pleasured. Sitting there in a goddamn auditorium closet, by herself. On U.A. grounds this time. _Shit_, he thought to himself. As he drove toward the kindergarten, he played and replayed his final glimpse at her as he left. He remembered the still-yearning in her eyes, how the dim light magnified the confusion in her blue eyes.

He felt dirty. Cruel. Monstrous.

He would make it up to her. But how?

Sex, how and with whatever she pleased? He shivered in memory. That would be irrational, letting the Rated R Hero have free range without safe words again. It only took one instance for him to learn that, though it should have been obvious. He limped for an entire week, flushed in the face at her (or simply her name) for two.

Their reckless affairs had to end, he knew. It was unhealthy and irresponsible and _irrational_. But he would have to say something to her tomorrow morning. With shaking hands, about five minutes from Eri's school, he lit up a cigarette and rolled down the windows.

Once he pulled up to the quaint kindergarten lot, once he saw Eri come out of the classroom, waving goodbye to another girl, his heart sang and the grayness lifted. He smiled, standing there in the designated area, hands in his pockets, forgetting about the confrontation and rage-driven lust.

Eri scanned the area before, as if remembering, looking at the spot to see her father there, as promised. Her wide eyes and innocent expression broke into an even wider smile and uncontained excitement—that smiling, bright face that never ceased to knock Shota off his feet, almost completely undone with something beyond pride, beyond love. "Daddy!" she cheered, running to him as her backpack bounced on her shoulders.

Shota's smile too widened when he laughed a little, kneeling with his arms open. He winced at the swollen hickey on his pelvis when he squatted.

"Daddy, Daddy, _Daddy_!" Eri threw her arms over his neck and let him lift her up in his arms, burying her face in his hair. She buried her face in his neck, feeling the short vibrations in his neck when he chuckled. "You're here! I missed you!" Eri reeled her head back to look at him. "Why's your hair wet—"

Shota kissed her cheek, holding her. "I missed you, too, Ellie-Bellie. So, _so_ much." The parents around observed the two, some questioning if Shota looked familiar in whispers—not that he cared to notice—but mostly, just watching the affectionate reunion.

But when Eri subtly motioned to part the embrace, as Shota always let her take the lead on things like that, she noticed her father did not let go just yet. "Daddy?" she asked in a small laugh. "Did you miss me _that_ much?"

A tad embarrassed, Shota moved her to his hip, holding her easily with one, strong arm. "Yes, I did." Walking back to his car a block down (unlucky for him, Eri's school let out just as U.A. went lunch, so he had to haul ass across town), he said, "I'm so proud of you. You were so brave."

"Really?" Eri asked, eagerly.

"As brave as Mirio and Deku. Maybe even braver."

"_Really_?!"

"Really, really."

When they got home, driving in a car that reeked of Lysol disinfectant, Shota put Eri down for a nap…only to collapse, finally, beside her. In seconds he was snoring out the remnants of anger-, anxiety-, and stress-induced exhaustion, slowly reconstructing himself back to Shota Aizawa, the pro-heroic teacher and father who always had his shit together (aside from his appearance). Mercy sex with Midnight came and went as usual: exciting in the moment, but disappointing afterwards. Regularly, he left her satisfied, _always_—save for his massive screw-up today.

But him? Never, since his first time with Mandalay at sixteen, had _he _been satisfied. He desired, he pleasured, and did all the how-to's and knew what to do when a woman screamed X, Y, and/or Z—and he was _great_. Attentive as a damn police dog.

But it just never came for him. And the constant drive that lacked an addictive end was getting old. Thanks to Tsubasa and Tran, his body was a wound, pulsating and vulnerable under the muscle and baggy clothes. But they ruined him in another way; what was to say about a man who failed to finish? Despite these questions, though, he found it most rational that as long as the women were pleasured properly, everything was fine. But it never fully helped his own needs.

So, in utter displeasure at himself, guilt for the women he had laid with thus far, and, frankly, humiliation, he threw the middle finger to lesson-planning, grading, meal-prepping. He just wanted to sleep there beside his daughter, where he knew he was doing some justice, making _some_ real difference not only for the other person, but for himself.

And it was enough for him. The moments that he spent alone were the issue, passing couples on the street or in the park or coffee shop, glancing at bird duos flying around on his patrol calls. Mic once joked with him that this meant he was a true romantic at heart.

All Shota knew was that the more he failed himself, the more he felt like shooting Cupid. With a crossbow, then a blowtorch. Maybe he would even Molotov the midget-bastard's ass while he was at it.

That night, sensing her father's stress judging by his stubborn napping, Eri attempted dinner in the form of two, overcooked Top Ramen packs, two cups of banana yogurt, and four store-bought cookies from the pantry. She brought them all on two trays, taking another trip back to the kitchen to fetch a pitcher of fruit punch before setting it in front of the flurry of makeshift dinner. She awoke her father, half-expecting him to be upset that she had touched the stove without permission, and presented their dinner with the suave of a real-time chef. Shota could only laugh for the first few moments before he took her in his arms and said over her head, "I can't stand it anymore—I love you. You take care of me _so_ well."

"I tried," Eri offered.

Shota pulled her nose. "Yeah, but remember that _I'm _the parent here. It's my job to take care of you." He smiled softly. "But thank you for helping me today."

Eri could almost see the world around her brighten—she _helped_.


	8. Chapter 8 - Oddity

__** A/N:** _Ohayo~!_ Hope you're all well out there. Quarantine's been... well, it's quarantine. My high-risk ass be totally not motivated to edit any of my works, but I got through two more chapters for this story. Finally...

Anywho, here it is, y'all. Hope I didn't scare anyone off with that sex scene (ain't trying to traumatize; trust me, I can do so much worse XD)!

Enjoy, and please _R&R_.

Plus Ultra!

**Chapter 08 Oddity**

A couplet of knocks disturbed Shota's manic cleaning spree—_Can You Stand The Rain_ ended just as the noise ricocheted off the walls. The pro-hero sighed and swiped a hand through his hair, peeling a purple bandana from his hairline. He shook his hair out, letting the waves regain their volume.

His house was designed minimalist: a kitchen with a good-sized table ebbed against the staircase on the right; a door leading to a compact TV room and office in the back through the kitchen, through which, a small garage could be accessed; upstairs, a loft bedroom with double-stacked floored mattresses, completed with loads of blankets, on one end, and a miniature office set-up with an impressive bookcase on the other; on the left side of the loft was a bathroom between bed and sufficing office, and a single-door balcony that existed above the garage. Eri's toys, his paperwork, and the cats' beds and toys could be found here and there, like little pebbles decorating a crafted pond in a high-budget plaza. The house allowed for natural light and had good ventilation due to its petite, but comfortable size.

Easy enough to clean. But Shota cleaned everything with unwavering strictness—everything had to be spotless, germ-less, and, therefore, rational.

Rational? He sighed, pondering over his thoughts. Old habits never died easily. Everything had to be right—more fitting, but it would come with some self-conditioning. He leaned the vacuum against the bathroom door before heading downstairs, tossing his bleach-smelling bandana into his hamper on the other side of the loft bedroom he and his daughter shared. All the windows were opened and there were scented candles lit to fend off chemical aromas. Everything was in place, shimmering. Pre-Eri. A bit of a mess did not shake him, though. His little mess of white hair could absolutely destroy the house, and he would simply laugh. And then they would clean it again.

Another series of heavy knocks startled him when he got to the first floor, causing him to suck in his breath. "Coming," he said with no real intention of being heard. Sushi curled up against his foot, purring at him. When Shota took a step, the tabby pawed at his other foot. Shota tripped and growled at him, "Sushi, _no._"

The cat scurried off, his usual game with the human companion he had acquired while the latter was at U.A. as a student.

When Shota opened the door, partially surprised to see Vlad King standing over him with his usual scowling mug, Shota said, "Yeah…no." He proceeded to shut the door. "Naw, man…"

"Hold on, Eraser," Vlad said, catching the door with his foot and a hand.

Shota crinkled his nose at the other man. "Pass. Not interested."

"Quit playing. I just want to talk," Vlad King insisted. The shorter man looked up at him with an unamused, unconvinced expression, lifting an eyebrow. "Can I come in?"

"You're lucky I'm in a good mood today," Shota said, grimly, opening the door. "To whom do I owe the pleasure of this visit?"

Vlad stepped in, removing his shoes as his colleague shut the door. "Just me. I thought seeing you two would be a good move to make."

"Or did you just want to see a broken man struggle?" Shota passed him into the immediate kitchen, gesturing at the two-person table lodged against the side of the staircase. "I'll pour you a pint. Hope you're a brandy guy." He staggered when the other pro-hero suddenly grabbed his shoulder. "What?"

"Here," Vlad said, handing him a slightly-wrinkled pamphlet. _Young Parenting Exclusive_, it was called, with a picture of a four-person family on a beach, each member smiling and laughing. "They do meetings on the weekends. Downtown. Maybe you'd be interested, with this new task at hand."

Shota squinted, raising an eyebrow at it and at the holder. "Um… Thanks." To him, though, their wide smiles only made them look constipated.

"Just think of it as a visitor's gift," Vlad said, proudly.

"Yeah…okay." With a sarcastic (Totoro) smile, Shota added, "Wow, it's laminated!" After receiving a very unamused glare from Vlad, he placed it on the table. "Can we drink now? I feel like you're just here to annoy me, so I'm gonna need a little something," he said, turning on his heel to find himself already in the kitchen.

This time, Vlad took a seat at the table, his knee nearly hitting the other chair. "Why do you expect the worst-case scenario when it comes to me?"

"No stress," Shota retrieved the promissory bottle from the rack and started dispensing the liquor into two glass cups. "For the most part, I expect nothing…from anyone; just watch, observe. That way, I'm rarely disappointed, but always on guard." Despite such sarcasm and cynicism, his words held true to his white-knuckled philosophies. A defense mechanism, really. He set down one of the cups before the other teacher, taking a drink of his. "Right you are, here."

The older pro-hero sipped the liquid after inspecting it, raising his eyebrows. "Whoa. Is that imported?"

Shota sat on the opposite side of the table from him. "It's from where I grew up."

"It's strong."

"It's kiwi."

"Huh."

"Saddle up."

"Here goes." Vlad took another drink.

"So…" The pause lasted longer than Shota intended. He set his drink down on the table and leaned back. "Why are you really here?"

"Suspicious as always."

"After years of knowing each other, you've never visited me. Not even for my birthday."

Vlad swirled the liquid in his mouth and gulped it. "You don't celebrate."

"How would you know?" Shota inhaled another mouthful.

"You celebrate alone?" Vlad retracted his neck in question, eyebrows scrunching down. "Like, make yourself a cake with candles on, and everything?"

Shota nearly choked, snickering under the alcohol before safely swallowing. "I'm not that pathetic." A moment passed with the two of them savoring the brandy before he noticed his guest staring at him. "What? Something on my face?"

Vlad chuckled and shook his head. "You…actually cleaned up. I mean, your eyes are still saggy—"

Shota cocked an eyebrow. "Heh?"

"—and you still talk like someone stepped on your cat. But you're actually wearing something other than your costume. And your sleeping bag. Wait a minute, you're shaving now?"

"Just felt like going bald, all right?" Shota narrowed his eyes at the other man, uncaring, really, for what he had to say about his current appearance. "What's the big deal?"

"Please. As if the rational Eraserhead would do something _that_ impulsive."

"I didn't know shaving my face was impulsive…"

"Well, you never cared before."

"True."

"So? What changed?"

"Eri said it's scratchy. But I actually did just…feel like shaving it off." The younger pro-hero shrugged.

"So, you did it because the girl doesn't like it. And why would that matter to her?" Vlad craned his neck, as if to lead on his thought. "How would she—"

"Don't be weird," Shota snapped, looking at his empty glass. As if sensing Vlad's skepticism, he added, "We play rough. All that normal family stuff."

"Seems so unlike you."

"This matters to you because…?" Shota asked, opening the nearest window to its full stretch. "She needs light in her life. Midoriya and Mirio sparked it, but I have to maintain it." He drank slowly first, then tossed the rest back. "I don't exactly fit the image, but I'm doing my best to give it to her. Lord knows she's become mine. Smoke?"

Vlad shook his head, raising his eyebrows as if in surprise. "I will never understand you." In response, Shota hummed, leaning on the pane with a cigarette hanging from his mouth. "You of all people, frolicking with a child."

"If it makes her smile, I'll gladly make a fool out of myself." Shota lit a cigarette after shoving open one of the windows. "It's the most rational way to parent. Or love. Least that's what I think."

"Seems that you've barely left the house. Haven't seen you around school."

"Aw, you miss me?" Shota teased, causing Vlad to scratch at his chin. "Yeah. I've been hermitting here with her. Mr. Principal and I had an agreement about it."

"Why?"

"Intense family bonding."

"You think you can give that to her?"

"This is a damned-if-you-do, damned-if-you-don't situation, isn't it?"

"Could be. I'm not sure."

"Well, I'll be damned if I don't at least _try_. But I know enough about her to know we're moving forward now." After puffing a cloud, Shota averted his attention to the world outside the window. "When you have a kid, you're not just there for nurturing or discipline, or money. Everything you do—how you carry yourself, how you talk, how you dress—you're being studied by inexperienced eyes. You gotta set the example." Another puff in the form of a relieved sigh. "So, for days now, I've been on my best behavior."

"You really are committed, huh?"

"If you're gonna half-ass it, you shouldn't be a parent." After a moment, he continued, "If you ain't prepared to give a child all you can, then what's the point of it all?" Vlad's mouth hung wide open when he looked back at him. "That's just my two cents. Sorry, I didn't mean to ramble, but…she woke me up."

"I guess. I see that."

"Eri's name actually means 'break reason.' Can you imagine that?" Shota said, baffled. "It's either ironic or symbolic as hell, I'm not sure which— _Do_ stop staring at me."

"Don't mind me," Vlad King excused. "I'm just shocked."

"Or as my kids would say: you're _shook_."

"I never thought you of all people would be the one to change this much. Like that saying with the old dog."

Shota replied, "I'd like to think I'm in the tail-end of my prime." The two men laughed briefly, and then the Erasing Hero sighed nicotine-vapor out the window as if he were on his way to his execution. "Listen. About the meeting—"

"It was probably underhanded of me to bring up your family history," Vlad suggested.

"Yeah, that was an asshole move," Shota agreed, taking his hair out of the band and shaking out the shaggy locks. "But I was going to say that Eri and I are getting along with things just fine. And you still owe me that drink."

"Yeah, yeah." Vlad's nostrils flared, but he smiled. "Well, tell her the douche-canoe says hi." Shota nodded, a smug smirk on his face. "Who even calls people that? Like, what the hell?"

The younger man muttered, "Oopsie," and continued to say, "Trust me, I can do worse," before the other homeroom teacher could question. Shota scrunched his eyebrows down in thought before speaking again, staring at the cigarette between his fingers. "Actually, I _do _want to apologize for my own underhanded jabs at you. Especially didn't mean to bring your kids into it."

Vlad King waved at him. "Yeah, well, consider it over and done with. I threw punches at you; you threw some back at me. Things canceled out. No worries." Shota took another drag, staring out the window. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Heh?"

"Did you adopt Eri because of guilt?" Shota squinted, still facing away from his fellow teacher. He knew exactly where this was going, and braced himself with another long drag. "Overhaul's idea of a Quirk-affecting weapon… Your Quirk takes another person's Quirk away for a moment. Sounds like Overhaul got inspiration from you—"

"I already know." And truthfully, he did. He had stumbled across such thoughts of direct redemption for his indirect influence on Eri's trauma. Of course, those thoughts of self-dreading roared at him in the darkest of nights when he watched her sleep peacefully in his bed. Of course, he wanted nothing more than to magically whisk away his daughter's memories of Chisaki. "But that's not why. See, I'm not one to pity—that does no good for anyone." Shota sighed out nicotine air. "I adopted her because I wanted to. I loved her the moment I saw her. I knew she belonged with me, and that I could give her her best shot. _That's _what differentiates pity and empathy."

"Well," Vlad said, "_that_ I can respect."

"It's just my outlook. Pay no mind." A pause. "I just wish she didn't have to suffer for so long with him."

"You smoke in front of the girl?"

Shota rolled his eyes slowly before turning back to his guest. "She knows her father has bad habits, too. What, am I supposed to lie or something?"

Vlad shrugged. "If you want to protect her—"

"Lying and protecting are different," Shota said taking in some smoke and quickly releasing it. "I do what I can to make the world safe and sound for her, and that does not include lying to her. Lying only makes her ill-prepared for the real world and resentful towards me." Withholding information, though, was another case.

"I'm just saying…"

"Shop's closed to unwanted parenting advice." Shota brought the cigarette to his mouth again. "And I doubt that's what Sensei sent you here for. Right?" He took a long drag.

"The vice principal has his own responsibilities to handle," Vlad King said, plainly. "So, consider yourself lucky he's so worried about you."

Shota chuckled sarcastically and shook his head. "You're Hound Dog's dog, then? That's poetic, in a way."

After a while, the older hero asked, "So, where's the kid?"

"Play…" Shota said, holding his breath, soon releasing another smoke puff, "date. I'm picking her up around three." Shota checked the digital clock over his visitor's head. "Oh. Right. The chicken…" He took a final inhale before dabbing out the butt, and then waltzed to the kitchen with his drink, opening the freezer to retrieve a haunch of chicken breasts, setting the package on a plate by the sink. He exhaled smoke through the nearest window, fanning it outside with a hand. "Eri wanted chicken ramen last week, but I didn't have time to make it for her. Lucky for me, her tastes are a lot like mine. But I _will_ admit that she's a tad pickier than I am…"

"Holy shit, Eraser. Like, holy shit."

Shota, drying off the first of four plates and setting it in the cabinet, muttered again, "That's, like, two oopsies, dude."

Vlad froze. "…Huh?"

"Huh, what?"

"You said oopsie. What is that, part of your stutter-dribble?"

"What a stupid thing to say." Turning to place a cup in its original spot in another cabinet, the younger pro-hero met his visitor's eyes briefly before rolling them, a lifetime habit whenever he would explain things. "It's just something Eri and I say when someone curses." He gestured to a medium-sized mason jar by the sink, which held a concoction of bills and coins to sum up about twenty or so dollars. "Rated T curses are a dollar. Rated R's are five."

"Really…?"

"That's all me, so far. Eri hasn't gotten brave enough to try and spring one on me. Yet." Shota fingered at a small stain on the counter from breakfast. "I know it's coming."

"You crazy?" Vlad astonished, watching the shorter hero open the pantry and jot down a shopping list on his phone.

"Not really, no," Shota remarked, sarcastically, eyes still glued to his phone. "Though, she _did_ make me a little mad when she got her horn stuck in the wall. Right there." He pointed at a small gouge in the wall, half-heartedly hidden by a fake orchid, and chuckled lovingly. "See, she was chasing Dude around and ended up slipping on the wood. Good times." Putting the phone in his back pocket, he moseyed on over to the sink again to clear the dishrack in a few swift movements.

"She's destroying your house and you haven't shown her any kind of structure?"

Shota stopped for a moment and rolled his eyes to their full extent. "Oh, boy…"

"—Rules?" Vlad grunted, downing the rest of his brandy. "I mean, Jesus. That's surprising of you."

Shota groaned. "I'm getting tired of you already… It was an accident. She's technically still a toddler—even _younger_ in the head, in that she's never been exposed to anything outside of a lab room. I kind of expected my house to get a little beat-up when she got comfortable." He looked around the small kitchen in thought. "I expected worse, actually. Much worse."

"So, you did nothing?"

Shota finally looked at the taller, older pro-hero, casually dangerous from across the room. "For your information, I handle her just fine. The details of how, Vlad, are none of your concern. Anything else?"

"What, do you smack her around or something?" Vlad asked, waiting an extra moment while Shota downed his alcohol in a split second.

Shota stared at him for an extended period of time, squinting. "Yeah. All the time. Thank God Mr. Principal didn't give me his blessing to adopt her. I'm such a prick."

Vlad shook his head. "Could do without the snark."

"And I without the interrogation. What, are you a social worker now? Because last time I checked, I only have to deal with _one_ asinine parent-sitter," Shota said, voice raspy before he swallowed a second time. "I just said our business is our business. And for your information…_part two_…" he said, viciously (awkwardly), before continuing, "discipline is one thing. I would never hurt my daughter." He clutched the stem of the cup so hard that it almost winced. "Don't confuse discipline for abuse. They're different." _Trust me_, he almost wanted to say.

"Yeah?" Vlad asked, unconvinced and amused, as the younger teacher administered lubricant to his irritated eyes. "How so?"

"Teaching versus punishing. Can't you see I'm busy with this?" After wiping a tear streak from the eye he missed, Shota blinked a few times before dragging his eyes to the other man. "Nice try, but that's all you're getting out of me."

Vlad put his hands up, defensively. "I'm being weary of the child. You of all people should know what an unstable household, with alcohol and tobacco present, does to a child."

"Mm-hm. Yeah. Principal Nezu wouldn't've given me his blessing if he, in any way, suspected I might cause Eri pain." He took his and Vlad's glasses to the sink and started washing. "I don't have to answer to you. We done?"

Vlad chuckled in disbelief. "God, I don't know, Eraser. Are we?" He spun around to face the younger man's back. "You have the child, yes, but there are still eyes and ears all over you two. Around the school, the media, everyone wants to know about the underground Erasing Hero's sudden interest in humanitarianism." The public's sudden infatuation with him and his daughter had plagued the news and papers for months now—though Shota knew how to hide himself and Eri from the cameras with strict precision. Enough so as to nearly drive Shota back into his minimalist-style house until winter, his only reasons for leaving the safety and privacy of his house were his teaching job and Eri's need to run around at the park.

"You make it sound so noble, so dramatic." Shota spun back around, leaning against the counter. "Well, I quit acting and I quit writing a long time ago. Since you seem to enjoy dumpster-diving about me, you should have caught that."

"It's nothing more than curiosity about the man who somehow leads a stronger group of heroes-in-training than I do," Vlad commented.

"Well, since you're so intrigued by me," Shota taunted, with a smirk bordering on sadistic, "keep reading my files. Go ahead. Let me warn you: junior year was a _whirlwind_, buddy. Girlfriend and I were in heat beyond our own comprehension."

"Be serious."

"—goddamn bottle of vodka in my stomach and John Michael Montgomery on the radio."

"_Eraser_."

"—going at it like a pack of starving wolves."

"Eraser!"

"What?"

"Your name'll be dragged through the mud if anyone hears about any of _that_, I'm sure. But maybe you should let the public into your life."

"No."

"Take advantage of the whole new hype about you getting a kid. Get more money."

"Yeah. Okay." Shota took in some more brandy, and after a moment, Vlad noticed he was nearly finished with the bottle. "The public and their love of drama and lies and puffed-up 'superheroes.' Anything for the status quo, doesn't matter if it's morally right or logical."

"Isn't money important?"

"The hell d'ya think you're talking to? But it's about _how_ you get it."

"And as a hero, isn't broadcasting the key to getting more money?"

"If that's _all _there is to pro-heroism nowadays, then I'm truly scared for my kiddos."

"Money's money."

"Even blood money?" Shota challenged, his eyes gaining distance with the pause that followed. Then, he scowled and shook his head. "There's more to pro-heroing than that. That's why it's called being a hero, not a celebrity. Some find it, some don't. I don't need a paparazzi stalking me to get more money."

"A man so preoccupied with dodging the media, who, ironically, resorts to thrusting his students in front of every camera he sees," Vlad remarked, a tad playfully.

"You want to go now?" Shota tested. "It's like that?"

"Ever the sensitive type…"

"No. Let's do it. I got time." Shota set down the bottle. "_I'm_ the one obsessed with media exposure?" He paused, squinting at the other hero with alcohol swirling his woody irises to a foggy smoke.

"All right." Vlad shook his head and took the bottle, hiding it behind his own body on the counter. "You've had enough."

"Look at all the emotional distress I've had to resolve and— and the parents I've had to console, and you're only bothered that my students were on the news? Do you think they _wanted_ to endure the U.S.J. incident? Hosu? The training camp attack? For God's sake, Bakugo's abduction? _No_." Shota stared at his opposer for an extended moment, all sarcasm, nonchalance, and amusement drained from his stone-cold, dead-serious scowl. "Yeah, you can blame all that on me. Go ahead! Should I have seen those attacks coming? Yes. Should I have thought through the situation better and prevented them from harming _my_ students? _Hell_ yeah!"

Vlad sighed, and Shota got in his face. "All right."

"My kids did what was necessary, when it was necessary, regardless of who saw, who had cameras, who would be shamed or praised. They reacted, Vlad. You didn't. And I was too slow to protect them, so they compensated and held their own."

"I didn't come to fight, Eraser—"

"Our time in the limelight is _over_. Do you hear me, Sekijiro?" he growled. He took a step back, but leveled his glare from dangerous to a calmer type of storm. "Now, it's about the kids, and my kids were terrified beyond their wit's end. If I c-… If I could…_shield_ them from those memories, I would. Instead of criticizing me, look into your students' well-beings and you tell me if that glory is worth it. Let me tell you, it's not. After each of those incidents, it took me _days_ to get my kids' eyes out of my head. It's _not_ worth it."

Vlad snorted. "Says the man who expels more than he graduates. I know my facts, man. Don't try to act like I don't. I see through you—"

"I'm sorry. Am I supposed to be frightened by you? My students and I almost died at the U.S.J., while you were off kissing your ass goodbye."

"I was present with the rest of the faculty while you were taking your beauty nap."

"Oh, I'm sorry for getting the shit knocked out of me. Since you did a little background check on me, I did some on you," Shota said, a sadistic glint in his eye, in his grin. "Heard Snipe had to drag you out, kicking and screaming from your hiding place in the bathroom. I've said it before: you're a coward."

"Okay, man. Chill."

"Yeah, see, ain't so fun being on the other side of the invasion-of-privacy schtick, is it?"

"_Chill_, man."

"—Spare me the trouble and realize who really sees through who." Shota squinted at him. "And don't bring any of _my _kids into this again. Final warning."

"Don't tell me the cold Eraserhead actually has a functioning heart after all those expulsions. Finally found a group worth your 'valuable' time?"

"Grow up. Go play in the file cabinets some more and you'll see why I did what I did."

"Don't act like you know everything."

"I know one thing."

"What's that?"

"There's a door with your face-print on it."

Only then did Vlad realize Shota had kept his mouth running all the way to the front porch. He threw his hands up, defeated. "Subtlety. The Erasing Hero's specialty."

Shota winked. "You know it. You should've caught on sooner. Are you okay?" Vlad's eyes narrowed, causing the other hero to smirk. "C'mon, man. I'm just worried about your mental state, is all."

"Screw off. I just came here to see how you were doing with the kid, but I see you're doing average." With a taunting, amused raise-of-brow, Shota shrugged, humbly. "Just make sure to keep your temper—"

"Nope," Shota said. "Uh-uh."

"Closed off from advice. Right."

"Y'know, everyone's so wound up in telling me what to do and how to do it that they forget who really _volunteered_ for this job in the first place."

"You consider parenthood work?"

"If it is, it's the best damn promotion I've ever received." Shota waved his hand at the other hero in a shooing motion. "Now, piss off. Go. Go, boy!" He kicked a stray pebble that had wandered its way into the foyer out the door. "Go get the stick!"

"I'd keep my guard up, Eraser." Vlad crossed his arms. The more he spoke, the more Shota's face sagged and drained of any expression beside unflinching annoyance and twitching irritation. "With all the kids you claim to care so much about, it would be a shame for them to see me lay you out—"

Shota's previous countenance broke into an unnaturally wide smile as he announced, "Thanks for stopping by!" and promptly slammed the door with earth-rattling force, reverberating off the windows and living room TV stand. Only then did he allow his agitation to morph sarcastic-stoicism into a rather unpleasant grimace, muttering to himself, "Twat-waffle." After standing there in the silence of an empty house, he stalked to the kitchen, sliding the bullshit handout Vlad had arrived with from the long table to the trash, casually, as he passed it. "Oh, no. I was going to use that for…"

He walked away—in fact, he walked all the way to the kitchen, opened the fridge, and then the pantry to start formulating another way to get his daughter to willingly eat her vegetables. Since the last time they clashed at the dinner table, Eri had taken an anti-green vow—anything green and/or leafy was banished from her little mouth. Shota nearly drove himself up the wall and off the balcony trying to reason with her that she had had spinach before; and just because it was green did not mean it would taste like bell peppers. Thus, he found himself engrossed in the debate of the century until Eri gave him a look that meant he was the worst father in the history of fatherhood.

But now, as he narrowed the choices to a sautéed mustards and daikon radish salad or chopped-up pickled cucumbers, a tremor occurred in his back pocket, causing him to jolt. Plucking out his phone and hoisting it between his shoulder and ear, he said, "Wotcher."

"Mr. Aizawa," it was the woman whose child Eri was now friends with, "I need you to come get your daughter."

"Uh, okay," Shota replied, frowning slightly as he shut the fridge and started for the door, snatching the keys and slipping on his shoes. "Is there a problem?"

"I will explain— Yes. There is."

"Give me twenty."

"How about fifteen?" And she hung up.

Shota closed his car door, scowling at his phone, and tossed it on the passenger's side. "_Wow_, lady." The Chevelle awoke with a growl and then a purr as _Chicken Fried_ jiggled the bass-bumping stereos on either side of the car. Sighing, he shifted the gear and pulled out of the driveway.

##

Mrs. Miura sat on the stoop of a stout, modern house with Eri when Shota arrived, her eyes shooting straight into his before he could put the car in park. Upon noticing this, he cocked an eyebrow and if he had not immediately turned his attention on his daughter when he stepped out, he would have guessed that he was the one in trouble. The housewife stood, gripped Eri's wrist, and stormed over to the pro-hero. "There a reason you're dragging my kid around?" He looked down briefly at Eri. "Hey, baby girl." She dodged his eyes, casting them aside with a slight pout and water building up in the red of her irises. Shota squinted, sensing the trepidation evident in her shrugging posture.

"Take her. Please," Mrs. Miura thrusted Eri at him.

"_Hey_." Shota caught a stumbling Eri, glancing quickly between his daughter and the other parent. He frowned, after making sure Eri was all right. "Are you crazy?"

"I don't think the girls should have any more playdates."

"Okay, fine," Shota agreed, temper piqued by her treatment of his daughter. With a hand on Eri's shoulder, he scowled at Mrs. Miura. Not breaking his contact from her, Shota reached for his daughter's hand, who zipped around to hide behind his leg, face buried in his thigh. She was sure to keep her hands to herself. For his safety. "But where do you get off handling my child like that?"

The other parent shrugged. "I just said what the problem was."

Shota's jaw clenched as his glare narrowed on Mrs. Miura, unblinking. "You don't _touch_ my kid."

"I'm not trying to start anything. I'm trying to end it."

"Then bye," Shota said, turning with his daughter following. Then he stopped. Sure, this was _his _easiest option—to just leave, walk away from bullshit the moment it starts. But was it Eri's? He looked down at her, who stared in bemusement back. Shota sighed heavily, turning back to the other parent with an exhausted scowl. "Okay. Is there something I'm missing? Honestly. I thought they were good friends." As he spoke, he became aware of the slightly pointier tip of Eri's horn in his leg, and instant dread yanked at his stomach.

"Aside from your daughter using her _Quirk_," the way she spat it out reminded him of Jong, growing up, "on my dog, they were."

Somewhere between confused and shocked, he glanced down at his daughter, noticed how she winced and hid behind his hip, and concluded this indeed was the truth…but also that it was an accident. "I see."

"My thirteen-year-old labradoodle is reduced to a puppy, and all you say is 'I see'?!"

"Am I supposed to say something more dramatic?" Shota sighed again, remembered his composure and that he was still being watched—echoes of his conversation with Vlad King—and bowed at half his standing height. But he still glared at her. "I apologize. My daughter's Quirk is still a tad unstable, and I take full responsibility for her actions."

Eri watched her father with wideset eyes, a shard of regret in her chest. She was unsure if he was upset or when he was going to scold her later. But more so, seeing him take the blame for her recklessness was far worse than any amount of lecturing he would subject her to. "Daddy—"

"It's obvious we have some more work to do to get it under control." Shota stood at full height, staring the woman in the eyes.

Mrs. Miura was taken aback, but readjusted her scowl and crossed her arms. "I hope so. If my daughter had been reborn, or whatever Eri's Quirk is—"

"I understand your concern, and I'm relieved your daughter is all right." He gently reached back, reeled his daughter to stand in front of him, no matter how she pulled back, and placed his hands on her shoulders. Eri gave him a look as if he were going to shove her off a cliff. "Thank you for having her over, Mrs. Miura." He shifted his eyes to his daughter with an expectant gaze, having only to say "El?" for her to understand.

Eri braved Mrs. Miura's fire-like eyes in short glances, fidgeting with her hands. "Thank you, Mrs. Miura, for having me. And I'm really sorry about Bixy." Remembering what her father had done, she too bowed.

The woman knew it was for the best of her family to stay away from someone with a quirk as unpredictable and effective as the girl before her, perhaps even all Quirk-users in general, but she could not deny that this was still a child. When she looked up at Shota, she noticed a slight look-what-you-did shadow in his long stare. She instinctively glanced over her shoulder to see her own daughter in the upstairs window, obviously crying to have now lost a friend. "It's…all right, Eri." She looked up again at Shota, who squinted at first, but then nodded.

"Come on, piglet." In seconds, the car made a right turn back to the road and when the curving neighborhood was replaced by angular streets, Shota let out a long sigh and leaned back in his seat. "A real whiner, that one. _Christ_." He chanced a peek at his daughter to see her aimlessly grooming the purple Care Bear she had left in the backseat the night before. "Hey." Eri slowly looked up at him. "Between her and your teacher, who do you think could win in a fight? I mean, Mrs. Miura's fierce, but Ms. Akiko's a top-button type of woman with razor teeth. She thinned me out real good for that one bake sale with the whole anti-sugar thing—"

"I don't know, Daddy," Eri said without much thought.

Shota looked at her again, briefly, in response to the monotone in her voice. Genuinely worried, not that his face showed it, he said, quietly. "I'm sorry that happened, sweetheart."

"It's okay," Eri said with a certain owlish tone unfitting for a child her age. No kid should have to accept this. It was not fair. "It's not your fault. It was never your fault."

"Level with me," Shota said, unable, after five minutes of dwelling and pondering, to ease the unease in the pit of his stomach. The nausea of missing _something_. "When you used your Quirk, what…happened?" Eri stared at him in question. "What I mean is, were you trying to do something or…did it just come out?"

"I…" Eri thought hard. "I wanted to see if I could put it only in one finger. I thought if I did, I wouldn't lose control. But it didn't work…" She dipped her chin to her chest, biting her bottom lip. "Bixy just jumped in front of me."

Shota said after a while, "I get it that you wanted to get a better feel for your gift, baby—and I'm sorry I haven't had the time to start working on it with you like I promised." Eri winced, sensing a lecture, hoping he would not yell. "But listen to me: that doesn't mean you get to experiment—uh, _play_ with it. Especially when you're not with me."

With a soundless sigh and a queasy stomach, Eri accepted, "Yes, Daddy. I'm sorry."

"Think of it as a house rule. No Quirk-using without my okay."

"Am I in trouble?"

"No, because you didn't know. That's my fault for not establishing that sooner. And _I'm _sorry I didn't." Shota smoothed his bangs from his face and sighed heavily. "But next time you use your Quirk without my permission, you will be." Shota let the car come to a gentle stop at the red light. "Not only because you can hurt someone else, but more importantly because you might hurt yourself."

"I won't do anything like that again," Eri agreed, something a tad more like herself.

"Thank you," Shota said. "Right now, though… I should've let Mrs. Miura have it for yanking at you like she did."

"But you did already."

"I'm still not satisfied."

"Daddy?"

"Yes, baby?"

"Have you ever…lost a friend?" Eri asked. Shota signaled and turned right after a Vahns delivery truck. "Did you ever have to say bye to a friend, and never talk again?"

Normally, Shota would have snickered and gave some sarcastic, maybe even cold-hearted remark about whichever past friendship he cut off. But he simply kept his eyes on the road, his hands on the wheel, and his face still. "Yeah. It's happened to me a few times."

"What did you do?" Eri set her toy on her lap, hugging it to her, pressing her nose to the synthetic fabric of the purple hair on the head. "It's not a good feeling."

"Well…" In all his past, failed friendships and associations, he simply dissociated. Cut the entire history down the middle and watch it burn, claiming it was an irrational relationship to begin with and coercing himself for not trusting his gut sooner. Thus, another impenetrable wall was constructed from the ashes, and he would turn his attention elsewhere with better knowledge, more caution, and less trust. Detachment was just too easy, now; and yes, at times he scared himself when he had these thoughts. But he knew he had to protect himself. He learned the harshest of ways that a house of steel was the most rational means of survival, letting in only a select few—his daughter and Katsuki, since they reconnected. That was it. They were enough. As long as he could watch over and protect them, and as long as his own vulnerabilities that were spilled in confidence were kept as such, that was enough. For both he had had to rebuild and relearn how to give a damn, and in return, they taught him how to trust in others.

"Daddy?" Eri scrunched her tiny eyebrows down a tad in her father's unusual silence.

Shota glanced at her through the rearview mirror, crushed at the sight, but mindful that if he looked away, he might miss something. "Sometimes, things just don't work out. But that doesn't mean there aren't other people out there who will be nice to you. We just have to keep trying, right?" he offered, receiving no recognition that he had said as much. When the light permitted, he accelerated to ten-over the speed limit and let the vehicle cruise. Pre-Eri, his natural response to a pouting child would be either to let time take care of it or simply reprimand said child, if the sulking continued on for more than his short patience could tolerate. But when he begrudgingly studied the small crease just above his daughter's brow, the withdrawal in her slumped shoulders…he knew he had to do something. He knew she was embarrassed that Mrs. Miura disallowed her and Sumi from ever talking again, but a particular _hunch_ pressed that she was probably embarrassed to have been caught playing with her Quirk. "Baby," he said, "can I ask you one more thing about today?"

Eri, who forced her attention to her father as soon as he had spoken, pressed her lips together. "Okay."

"When you used your Quirk on the dog,"—he almost did not want to know, but he had to find out—"how did you stop him from disappearing? How did you stop your gift from spiraling out of control?"

"Mrs. Miura moved him away right when I touched him. She had a broom."

Eri watched her father's eyebrow raise, felt the car slow down as if in warning. "Did she push you with the broom?" He asked this in a low, growling voice.

"No," she said, unsure what he meant by that. "And I didn't mean to touch him, too. He just ran to me."

"Okay." The muscles in Shota's shoulders unraveled in throbbing releases, and he took a steadying breath. "Eri. Your Quirk is a very powerful one—a kind one, too. But right now, it's really unstable. When things are unstable, like I said, people can get hurt. _You_ can get hurt. So, I need you to really follow my words and not use it unless I say so. Okay? I promise that everything will be okay, but I need you to really listen."

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why do I have to do it with just you?"

"Because I can erase Rewind if things get crazy."

"What if you get really hurt and you can't—"

"I will. Don't you worry."

"But—"

"Eri." They met eyes. "Daddy's got you. Okay?"

"I understand, Daddy," Eri agreed, finally, with a smile. "No Quirking. I don't want to worry you."

"Thank you, El-Belle," Shota said. "How about we try for this weekend? We're not going to go crazy and do an all-out battle or a twenty-mile run. Baby steps."

"Okay!" Eri bounced up in her car seat, hearing that.

And Shota smiled softly. _It's the least I can do…for what's coming on Friday, anyway…_ His stomach twisted at the thought of the many reactions and worst-case scenarios that would take the small family by storm. He prayed that God would have mercy on the pediatrician, whoever he was going to be, but more so, he prayed that Eri would not relapse into distrustful silence again. They came _way_ too far—he hoped—for the sturdier foundation he laid and the bricks they stacked together to come crumbling down at the first vaccination. His heart darkened, and he made a final prayer. A prayer that Chisaki and everyone associated with him would burn in the Nine Circles of the Inferno _consciously_, feel every flame flicking at their bare, melting skin, even after all life had ceased.

When he looked back in the rearview mirror, though, and saw how the golden sunlight sparkled Eri's hair like thawing ice, his heart warmed. "So, remember when you asked for chicken miso ramen last week, and I said no 'cause I was swamped?"

"Uh-huh…?"

"Guess what I'm making for dinner tonight."

Eri gasped in excitement, her playdate disaster forgotten for now. "Really, Daddy?!" Shota chuckled. "Yummy!"

##

Later, when Shota had tucked in and kissed his daughter good night, he had gone out on the small balcony of his modest, no-wasted-space house for a smoke while aimlessly scrolling the parenting section of Pinterest—scoffing here and there at the born-again mothers who only fed their kids homegrown kale, who swore to cannibalize on any parent who responded to tantrums with stern warnings as opposed to _breathing fully_ and _gazing into your child's eyes because they are little angels trying to learn how to fly and you are the wind supporting them_. "Wow," he said, closing the app. As expected, the worst place to go for parenting critique was the internet…well, that or his own family. Not that he felt he truly needed it anymore; he'd heard from his students and colleagues that he was a good father, better than anyone expected, and he felt it most days. But curiosity was curiosity, and frankly, the web article called "Why Your Daughter Hates It When You Look at Her" caught his attention, only to then lose it when the author claimed that soul-searching stares with the child would be in order. No words. No emotion. No touching. Just sit there and _stare_ at each other, feeling their energy joining in the quiet space as one being.

Shota had had enough within seconds and took the longest of drag.

_Mr. Principal_ displayed across the top of his screen, accompanied by a familiar phone number. Shota stared at the screen for two more moments before tapping the left side to accept the call. "Mr. Principal, sir."

"Good evening, Aizawa."

"A tad late for a house call, don't you think?"

"Yes," Nezu said with a chuckle. "But I have a proposition for you, and I have a feeling you're the best suitable candidate for this task."

In minutes of the conversation, he was choking on nicotine-polluted air.

_R&R!_


	9. Chapter 9 - The Warrior

**Chapter 09 The Warrior**

"_O__w_, shit!" Shota reached down, clutching his ankle as a dull throb beat against the skin. The never-healing bruise darkened again to a deeper shade of purple just on the curve of his ankle bone. A bruise atop a bruise. "Bloody hell…" He looked up to see his neighbor's granddaughter staring at him, all in her crustiness and sticky fingers that gripped the handlebar of her tricycle. "You almost made me spill my coffee, kid. Careful with that thing."

"Trash monster!" Sticking her tongue out, the little, curly-haired girl started peddling back to the other house where her grandmother was now standing, curious about the exchange.

Shota gave a dulled expression. "Or…not."

"Stupid-face trash monster!"

"Shota!" the neighbor called, causing him to groan. "Be careful with Sori!"

"Yes, Mrs. Shimizu."

"She's only two, you know!"

"_I know_, Mrs. Shimizu."

"Isn't she just an angel?"

"Uh-huh," Shota groaned, gathering the mail that he had dropped. "Just like Lucifer…"

"What was that, dear?!"

"Nothing. Have a good day. Bye." Shota went to hide in his house—he always disliked his snooping, noisy neighbors. When he got to the kitchen, he realized that Eri had not yet come to the table for breakfast. Sighing, he stalked out of the room and headed for the stairs.

He had woken her up before he went outside, so she should have been brushed and washed up and sitting at the table already. Or at least washing her face.

"El-Belle," he said, entering her dimly lit room. "Time to get up." His response was a drawn-out murmur from a heap of blankets and pillows and toys. Opening the blinds a tad to let fresh sunlight spill through in fragmentations, he came over and sat on the bed beside the small, groaning bump. "Wake up." He gently lifted the covers and warmth from his snoozing daughter, causing her eyebrows to scrunch down. "We have stuff to do. Quickly, now. Breakfast is ready."

"Nooo…" Eri moaned, sprawled carelessly on her face, when her father shook her a bit.

"Let's go." His only answer was another groan of defiance. "Ellie-Bellie." Eri groaned, sitting up with eyes closed, only to then flop back down on her face. "Get up." Shota nudged her.

"Nooo, Daddy. Leave me alone…"

"Leave you alone?"

"Mm-hm…"

"Don't make me tickle you."

"_Nooooo_…" This time, with a sleepy smile pinching her cheeks, she weakly pushed at her father's wide hands.

"You think that's gonna stop me?" Shota teased, poking her rib and causing her to jerk away and hug herself into a ball. "Daddy said get up, so you…"—he tickled her sides furiously—"get up." Eri exploded in laughter, rolling, kicking, thrashing around in the bedsheets, making a mess of her own hair and toys. She sat up and rubbed her eyes, residual laughter fading away as her father kissed her nose. "Go brush your teeth and wash up."

"Okay," Eri said, hopping off the mattress.

"Don't forget to make your bed," Shota reminded, catching her when she tried to run off. "Remember how I showed you?" Eri nodded and quickly tucked the blankets under the mattress—it was sloppy and lumpy in the middle, but good enough for a five-year-old with minimal maintenance experience. Then, she darted out the door, causing her father to dodge her, holding his coffee high as to not risk spilling it on her head. "Slow _down,_ please."

Eri chirped back, "Sorry!"

Shota sighed and slugged his way to the kitchen, wondering to himself how the hell she was so energetic after being so stubborn. With a fixed gaze on the scrambled egg and coin-cut sausage scramble that he had left on low-flame, a gaze almost too blank for someone attending to a stove, he sipped his coffee with one hand and deftly turned over the forming wads of yellow with chopsticks in the other hand. Placing the mug down, he stalked to the fridge for chicken broth, then to the seasoning cabinet for salt, pepper, and garlic, ginger, and onion powder, and then to the pantry for sesame oil. In minutes to come, he was serving the scramble alongside the scallion pancakes he had made earlier in the morning, setting the respective bowl and plate at the center of his table, complemented by two small cups of rice and two pairs of chopsticks. "Eri!"

"Coming!"

He went back to the sink to meticulously wash the reasonably-sized pan with a weathered sponge, the occupant steam rising and brushing against his sagging, yet calm eyes. The warm water calmed his nerves against the cold morning air, but he knew they would only return once he had Eri loaded in the car. Tiny footsteps trotting down the stairs from the loft area snapped him out of his short trance, so he racked the pan, dried his hands, and went back to the cabinet for two more small bowls. "There she is," he said, without turning his back, ladling miso soup from a little pot on the stove into both bowls in one hand. Returning to the table where Eri kicked her feet, he placed one bowl before her and the other at his chair, sitting. "It's a tad bland this morning, but… Eat up, please."

Eri clapped her hands together at her father. "_Itadakimasu_!"

Following her lead, Shota responded with his usual drag, "_Itadakimasu_."

After they clacked chopsticks, as usual, the meal carried on in a comfortable quiet with Eri happily scarfing down the scramble and Shota leisurely stuffing a pancake into his mouth. Eri nearly spat out her food. "Daddy, you look like a chipmunk."

"So, do you, baby," he said through the food, casually wiping some egg from the corner of his daughter's mouth with his thumb. "Don't talk with your mouth full."

"But you're doing it," Eri teased, letting her father primp her.

"Mm." After swallowing the massive lump of food, he asked, "Hungry today, huh?" Eri nodded and hummed as he took in a mouthful of eggs. "That's good."

"Yeah," Eri swallowed, allowing her face to return to normal size. "I'm happy you're really hungry, too. You didn't eat a lot last night, and you love miso ramen."

"Maybe I just got sick of my own cooking…"

"But your food's always good. You wanted to be a chef before." By the confused, shocked look her father sent her way—how he fully opened his usually-halved eyes—she realized she just tattled on herself and dropped her wide eyes to her rice. "Uh-oh."

Shota's eyebrow cocked slowly, and he asked even slower, "How did you know that?" Eri's crimson irises slid to the right, staring at the steam rising from her soup bowl. "Did I tell you that or…? I don't remember that I did." In truth, he had not told anyone, save for Bakugo and his grandparents. Maybe even Mandalay back when they dated.

"I…" Eri said, slowly peeking up at him since he was not mad. Yet. "I saw something about it…" Shota dipped his chin, indicating that she should continue. "In a folder." His eyes squinted as his brows arched upwards, still not getting it. "In, um… In your office." His expression cleared all together, and her stomach dropped. "While we were napping."

"Eri, you know you're not supposed to go looking around my office."

"I woke up before you did, and I was bored, so…" She shrugged.

Shota narrowed his gaze on her. "There are weapons in there. You could have hurt yourself."

"But I didn't go looking around. I just went to your desk."

"_Eri_. That's not the point."

"Sorry… So, you were gonna be a chef?"

"That was the original plan."

"What happened?"

"I found a reason to be a hero. Then a teacher. Life happens like that, sometimes." Shota continued eating to cut off the topic, and soon, so did Eri. "I didn't forget that you went into my office without my permission, though." She winced, but he smoothed her hair to let her know that no long lecture or repercussions were coming. _Well, there's another reason to move everything to my safe, I guess_, he thought to himself, wondering why he had not done so sooner. "Don't do that again, okay? I keep sharp things in there."

"I won't," Eri vowed. "I wanted to see what was making you so unhappy at work 'cause I wanted to help."

Shota sighed. "Yeah, I understand. I've just got a load on my mind. That's all."

"Is it because of me? What I did at Sumi's house? Because I'm really sorry—"

"Easy, piglet," Shota said, calmly. "It's just adult stuff. My brats seem to enjoy stressing me out. But it's nothing for you to worry about."

"Oh. Okay." Eri drank her soup and then returned for a pancake, snatching it with her hand.

"Eri," Shota snapped in the form of a deadpan. "Hands in the food are a no-no."

"Sorry." Eri bit into the cake, holding it in her teeth while wiping her fingers on her clothes, much to her father's elevated horror. But after a while, Shota just chuckled and shook his head, continuing to eat and taking a mental note to work on table manners some more with her. "Where are we going? School?"

"Uh, well…" Stuttering aside, Shota's tongue froze, unable to decide which words would be right in the moment. Naturally, he wanted to give it to her straight. But considering her past, he was unsure if this would backfire in the form of a tantrum or tortured silence and an unwanted round of hide-and-seek. In the months since he devoted himself to parenthood and built an affectionate relationship with his daughter, they had nursed a strong bond of loving trust in those slow, quiet mornings; playful, racing afternoons; and gentle, reassuring nights. As someone who rarely trusted, he knew it was a delicate thing. It was a wonder Eri had gotten so attached to him, considering her abuse had been by a man roughly about his age and stature. He could only hope that it would last, but if it did not, if Eri came to prefer others over him following the events of today, so be it. As long as she was happy and safe and loved, what more could a parent ask for?

"Daddy?" Eri's short eyebrows lifted. "What's wrong?"

Not usually one to express openly, Shota shook his head. "Nothing. Just…my tongue froze up."

"Daddy." He looked at her, and she raised her eyebrows in a manner in which he often did whenever he urged her to talk about some unspoken thing that bothered her. In her time under her father's care and roof, she did remember how still and flat his face and tone used to be, and she did remember how, as time went on with them being a family, he allowed himself express worry, or simply laugh or even just smile (and after that one night, cry). So, whenever her father returned to his old stoic ways, she knew something was off. She knew he was trying to hide something. "Your eyes look funny again."

Shota chuckled. "You're good, piglet." As he had finished his meal, due to an appetite fueled by concern, stress, and nervousness, he gingerly placed his chopsticks down on the napkin. "Uh… Okay. I'll just say it. You have a doctor's appointment today." Eri's gaze went to her arms that now sported healing scars, thanks to the nightly aloe vera gel and youthful skin. Shota's stomach dropped, hoping she would not panic, but he continued, "It'll be okay."

"I'm gonna have shots?"

"I'm sorry, but yes."

"I don't like needles."

"I know."

"Or doctors." Eri fidgeted with a lock of hair, twirling it around her fingers. Glancing up at her father after a little pause, she chanced, "If I don't go, you won't have to use money."

Shota's eyes squinted a tad, and she shot her eyes back down to her plate. "Eri," he leveled, "this is important. If you're healthy at the end of the day, it's money well spent. Okay?" Eri knew her father enough by now to point out when he was downplaying a bad situation. But she knew him enough, too, to understand how stubborn he could be. So, peeking at the additional bags under his eyes, she nodded obediently. "You let me worry about money. Everything's fine." Shota pushed some hair behind Eri's ear. "I don't want you to get sick, and I know you don't want that either. It sucks, but we can get through it, huh?"

Eri's eyes widened, listening. She took a considering moment, pushing down memories of experimentation and feelings of dread to make way for memories of Daddy, Mirio, and Deku and some of the other 1-As and the love and support they all gave her. Despite her age, she knew she had a responsibility, too—to be strong and prevent her father from worrying, which she knew would not be particularly easy with how meticulous he was. "Yeah," she said, looking down.

Shota kissed her head. "That's my girl. Go upstairs and get your stuff. We're leaving in five."

"Okay," Eri said, defeated, but trusting that her father and the fact that he knew best. She hopped down from the chair as Shota gathered the dishes. "_Gochisosama deshita_, Daddy."

"_Oss_." Shota turned on the faucet and began washing. "Don't forget to feed your fish, too."

"I won't."

##

"Hang on," Shota instructed his daughter, locking his car before shoving the keys in his pocket. Eri tiptoed along the cement lining of a planter in the hospital parking lot, arms stretched out to maintain balance. Looking both ways of the small intersection of in-and-out cars, Shota outstretched his hand to Eri. He looked down at her after seconds of a non-reaction caught his attention. "Eri, grab Daddy's hand."

Eri lifted her eyes to him cautiously, then looked back down at his hand. Crinkling her face together and hiding her hands behind her, she made a small noise that could suffice as defiance, but with what had happened the previous afternoon, Shota already knew she was distrustful of her Quirk. So, he simply put his hand on her shoulder and led her across the street with him. "It smells funny in there," she said when the automatic doors slid open, hugging her toy. "Like soap."

"That's a good sign," Shota joked, pressing a button for the elevator. "Means the doctors don't have cooties."

Hearing this, Eri nodded in agreement and smiled. "Do you have cooties, Daddy?"

Rummaging through his pockets to make sure he had his wallet, the keys, and his phone, Shota gasped as if something just occurred to him. "I'm not sure. I should have the doctor check that for me, don't you think?"

"Uh-huh!"

"Good thing you reminded me." He bent over and pecked a kiss to her head, causing her to giggle.

"Now I have it, too!" Eri cried.

Shota chuckled. "Misery loves company, love." An elderly lady had watched the exchange and smiled when he finally noticed her, and blushed because of it. The elevator opened, and he nodded respectfully at her. Dr. Kimura's office appeared to have a terrible case of jungle influenza or some other forestry implosion—whatever the difference, Shota was not sure—but the paintings of smiling panthers and gorillas were enough to keep Eri entertained enough as he signed in at the receptionist's desk, dubbed Bear's Cave and complemented with a flurry of stuffed bears. "That's…curious," Shota muttered to himself. "Eri, why don't you sit down over there? Wait for me?"

"Okay." Eri hugged her stuffed tiger toy to her chest and took the nearest beanbag chair. She traced the round ears of the panther with her finger, kicking her feet against the green bean-bag chair. In her mind, pure wonder beyond that of any other young child overtook her. She had never seen most of these animals, even in pictures or paintings. She had no idea what that tall four-legged one was, with its gold and brown pattern and long snout. It almost looked like a horse, she thought. The clatter of beans under Shota's weight as he flopped down on the blue beanbag beside her gave her a short scare. She looked at her exhausted-looking father, watching how he rubbed his neck a bit. "Daddy?" He looked at her, squinting through the redness of his eyes. "What's this thing?"

Shota followed his daughter's eyes. "That's a giraffe, El-Belle."

"A ger— Huh?"

"A _giraffe_."

"A giraffe. Oh." Her father hummed in agreement, eyes glued to the papers. It was an odd name for something that resembled a horse. Eri kicked her feet harder as if the new knowledge was trying to escape her small body. "Why is his neck like that? Does it hurt him?"

"Uh… Well, he eats leaves in trees. Tall trees." Shota reached over and gently placed his hand on Eri's leg, staying it to the cushion. "Sit still, please."

"How does he sleep?" Eri asked. "His neck's like that, so is it really hard for him to sleep?"

A nurse dressed in teal scrubs came out of a door called Frog's Pond. "Eri Aizawa?"

Shota stood. "I'll show you at home." Again, though, when he reached his hand out to her, she refused to comply and hid her hands in her underarms, breaking eye contact with a short pout. She buried her face in her tiger's side. So, again, Shota led her by the small of her back, muttering, "It'll be okay."

In truth, Eri wanted to grasp her father's warm hand and squeeze it until they were safely home. She knew the needles were coming for her, but she had to make sure her father would be there to run to, firstly. But he could not help her if she sent him into non-existence.

"In here, please." The nurse led the two to a small room with a weight scale, a stadiometer, and a blood pressure monitor with a small cuff. Beside the last item was a single chair. Shota nudged Eri to go in with the nurse while he stood close by at the door frame. "Can you give me one of your arms, honey?" the nurse asked, sweeter than before. Eri shyly lifted herself in the chair, but hearing this, she looked to her father pleadingly.

Shota came in and knelt down in front of her, helping with the zipper. "No needles yet. She's just trying to see about your heart pumps blood to your body. Just a squeeze."

"Okay." Eri lifted her arm out of the jacket, instantly chilled by the air. When he moved, she insisted, "_Daddy_," and he knelt back down, moving aside as to not be in the way. The nurse wrapped and secured the cuff around her tiny arm, pressed a button on the machine. She then proceeded to hold a thermometer to Eri's lips. "Open up, please." Eri did as told. "And close." A moment of quiet: the nurse said, "98.0."

Eri looked to her father. "Body temperature," he said. She nodded slowly, still having no idea what that meant. Her arm was squeezing so much that it started beating, but not painfully. Something in her face changed that prompted her father to say, "It's okay, baby."

After a while, the nurse said, "101/63. Good. Can you stand over by the ruler for me?" Eri obeyed, and the nurse readjusted her against the wall. Soon, something flat and thin touched her head and she lifted herself on her toes to push it back up.

"Eri, stay still, please," Shota said, directly. Hearing his tone, Eri slouched on the flats of her feet, giving a short, juvenile pout with it.

The nurse chuckled. "She's cute."

"Don't tell her that," he joked.

The nurse redid the plate, touching it lightly to Eri's head. "Three-four." She scribbled down the notes thus far on her clipboard. "Now over here on this thingy." Eri hopped on the scale and watched the numbers jumble. "Twenty-eight pounds. A little on the lighter side, Dad."

"Noted," Shota said as she scribbled down more notes.

"All right, follow me." Draping the jacket back around Eri's shoulders, realizing she was quite cold, Shota led her down the hall behind the nurse. "Here, please. Room three. Dr. Kimura will be in shortly."

"Thanks." Shota lifted Eri on the paper-shielded table. "Okay so far?"

"Yeah," Eri said as her father sat in the chair beside the table. "It didn't hurt."

"Good." Honestly, Shota was unsure what was to come. Deducing that it would be hell in the form of a sobbing five-year-old once the injections were brought in, he knew he would probably have to hold Eri down. But despite however else she felt about him after today, he knew he had to be there for her, regardless, as her father. All he knew for sure, though, was that the look in her eye was going to be a stubborn image in his mind thereafter. He was not the one kicking his legs in pending doom, but he too was encroached thoroughly in his own form of trepidation, squeezing his hands together in his lap. Before he knew it, Dr. Kimura had entered and was greeting Eri. Standing, Shota shook his hand.

"So," the middle-aged doctor said, a file in his hand. "Everything looks great. Weight is a little lower, but nothing scary. Height, too. B.P., good." He got out a pen and looked to Shota. "Tell me about Ms. Eri's diet. How many meals and snacks a day?"

"Three meals a day, two or three snacks, just depending on how hungry she is," Shota said, feeling as though the doctor would ring his neck at any given moment. But it would be most rational to be truthful and have whatever needed correcting corrected. "She's a picky-eater, too."

The doctor chuckled. "I see. That's normal, as her previous tests all came out good. Portion sizes for big meals?"

"I try to make the biggest portion on her plate protein, then vegetables, and then whatever else I cook up. But I will admit to giving her sugary stuff, too, but during the day only.

"That's what childhood is all about," Dr. Kimura said, breaking a smile as he wrote down some more notes. "How is her digestion? Regular?"

"Yes."

"Good. You keep track?"

"Mentally, yes."

Eri kicked her feet gently, as to not disrupt the adult conversation, wondering what a 'digestion' was, but not giving it much more thought than that. Turning her attention to the pamphlets of smiling children and their parents followed by an equally cheerful doctor. She did not understand what it was that made the appointment so fun for them, but she wished that same energy would be transferred to hers—though she wondered if Daddy's face could stretch _that_ wide. Dr. Kimura took a seat on a rolling stool and slid over to Eri. "Hello, there."

"Hi," she said.

"Your daddy told me you have nightmares sometimes," said the doctor. "Are you able to go back to sleep after he helps you calm down?"

Eri looked at her father, who quietly watched her. "Yeah. I just go to his bed and he sings to me until I fell asleep."

Dr. Kimura smiled. "That's very sweet. Afterwards, does the nightmare still scare you in the morning?"

Eri shook her head, unsure where he was going with this. "I don't remember it, really. I just wake up really scared."

"So, it's just a nighttime thing?" She nodded. "Okay. That's a good sign." The second part he said to Shota. "Well, considering her traumatic history, I'd say Eri's developing well. Unfortunately, though, if we were to put her in comparison with other five-year-olds, she would be a little behind."

"I understand," Shota said.

Dr. Kimura raised his eyebrows as he said, "_But_ she can go to the bathroom on her own, speak in full sentences and understand house rules, feed herself with utensils… So, I'd say to keep up the good work, Dad. And Ms. Eri, you're doing great." He winked at her through his gray eyelashes.

"Thank you," Eri said.

"If I may ask," the doctor continued. "What do you do, sir?"

"I'm a high school teacher."

"Ah," the doctor said. "I can see where your schedule may be tight."

"It's a tad crammed. But my school is generous enough to let me bring Eri along on the days that she is off school," Shota explained. "But when she _is_ in school, she's out by the time I'm on lunch break. Luckily, things work out."

"Good." Dr. Kimura cleared his throat, squinting at the other adult. "I asked that also because…excuse me, but you look familiar, somehow. Do I know you from somewhere?"

"Can't imagine so."

"Maybe it's the accent… I have many patients from out west. Shikoku. I apologize," Dr. Kimura continued. Shota shrugged. "Now, back to Ms. Eri, we'll need to do go through immunizations. Right now, since the previous hospital gave her Hep A and B, IPV, Hib, and MMR; so, we'll move forward with her first dose of DTaP, varicella, PCV, and her second dose of Hep A."

"So…four?" Shota asked, cocking an eyebrow at the foreign acronyms. "Right?"

The doctor nodded simply. "We'll also need to get a blood and urine sample, too. And by law, I have to offer you the choice of giving her a flu shot."

From personal experience, Shota automatically wished to decline—he had never had a flu shot until high school following his diagnosis with an autoimmune disease, and days after, he fell ill with pneumonia and a raging fever—but he still thought about it. "I'll think about it," he said. He chanced a glance at his daughter's worried face and immediately thought of Overhaul's experimentation. "Maybe not right now."

"Sure—"

"But what about me?" When the doctor pulled a confused face, Shota gave him an intense look and nodded subtly to his pink-faced daughter, tears threatening her eyes already. He gestured for the doctor's clipboard, not that Eri really noticed, and wrote, as if they were passing notes in class: _However many she's getting. Just the needles. Don't waste anything else on me._

"Yes," Dr. Kimura accepted, after reading the message. He scribbled on the same sticky note and handed it back to Shota, who shoved it in his pocket. "Mr. Aizawa, it appears you are also due for immunizations as well." Eri had heard that, and looked up at her father.

Shota cocked his head to the side. "You don't say."

"You also have four."

"It can't be helped. All right, then."

"In that case, it was very nice to meet you both. I'll call for the nurse." The doctor shook Shota's hand and then Eri's, who then signaled for her father to come sit on the table with her, which he did.

"Thank you," Shota said to the doctor. He turned to Eri, sitting. "Yes, baby—"

"Daddy, I don't want four." Eri nuzzled herself into her father's chest, hiding, as the doctor left the room. "It's gonna hurt."

"It'll be okay." Shota gathered her in his arms. "No one likes getting shots. But they help you stay healthy." He thought about her school enrollment, then—as long as Eri was immunized within the next month, she would be eligible for attendance. "Daddy's getting his, too,"

"You are? But how come he didn't make you stand on the thing, too?" Eri asked. "Is it because you weigh too much?"

Hearing this, Shota chuckled. "Yeah," he said. "Probably. But I heard there's a terrible case of grown-up cooties going around. I like to be healthy."

"Oh."

"But more importantly, I'd like you to be healthy, too."

"_But_—" The door clicked, and Eri jerked her head towards it with eyes wide and a face as pale as the bland wallpaper.

"It's okay," Shota immediately said to his daughter when the nurse came in with a tray full of needles, Band-Aids, and sanitizing pads. "Hey. Look at me." Eri's wideset eyes darted to his and she gripped his hand with her fumbling, damp ones. "It'll be okay. You can do this."

"No, I can't…!" She inched even closer into her father's body. "I wanna go home."

"Sweetheart—"

"I _wanna _go _home_!" Eri burst into tears, clinging onto her father's sleeve.

"I'll be right here. It's gonna be fine."

"No! Daddy, _please_ don't make me!"

"—Eri, sh…" Shota placed his hand over his daughter's, gazing upon her with patient, calm eyes. He glanced at the nurse, who returned with a sympathetic grin. He turned back to his daughter with the same gentle, yet stern gaze. "There are other kids here, too, who are also scared. Remember your manners—inside voice, please. Okay?"

Eri, less insistent on her grip on her father, nodded in understanding. "But I'm too scared."

Shota removed her from his lap and placed her on the table beside him. "Okay, then. I'll go first, and you can see."

"But then you're gonna be sad, too."

"Uh," Shota said, thinking. The nurse came over to his side, catching on, and rolled up his sleeve to clean his shoulder with an alcohol pad. "Well, how about we make it a challenge?" Eri tilted her head. "If one of us cries, we'll have ice cream and cookies after dinner. And if not, you get to stay up with me a little later tonight." Shota held out his arm to her. "Deal?"

"Deal," Eri agreed, immediately hooking her arm at the elbow with his. Either way, something good was coming.

The nurse cleaned Shota's arm. "Such a dutiful dad."

Shota looked at her. "Oh, thank you." In a lower tone, he admitted to her, "This is all on the fly." That, along with his intriguing accent and surprisingly stunning features beneath the usual mess of him, made her smile and gaze at him for a moment longer.

Eri moved closer to him, clutching his hand. The nurse plucked up the first needle—had Eri looked closer at it, she would have seen that the syringe was empty. Pinching what she could from Shota's muscular shoulder, the nurse warned him, "Just a small pinch."

Calming his own heart, knowing he was being _stared_ at, Shota nonchalantly said, "No problem." When the small sting came, Shota remained still. Eri watched him, and though there was no sign of fear in his expression, his free hand was squeezed into a fist and something in his neck pulled. He noticed her by the third needle, and said, "See? It's not so bad."

Eri slowly nodded, though she considered the rock-hardness of her father's arms and deduced that that was the culprit. He had too much muscle to even feel anything. Surveying her own scrawny arm, feeling how empty and fragile it seemed, she was unsure if she could handle it.

Shota watched her, having no idea what she was doing. "You good?"

"No," Eri admitted.

"All right, Dad." The nurse smiled, placing a Band-Aid over the site. "You're done!"

"Thanks," Shota said.

The nurse disposed of the used needles and returned to the next tray, stacking alcohol pads on them. "All right, cutie." Hearing this, said cutie cowered, tugging her arms into herself, desperate for her father's arms, but too afraid she might Rewind him.

"Here," Shota said, offering her his hand. "Just squeeze my hand."

Eri automatically shook her head.

"Hey. It's okay."

"Cancel me and I will."

"I'm not going to do that. There's nothing to worry about."

"You don't know that!"

"Eri, take it easy."

"You don't _know_ that, Daddy!" Eri cupped her hands to her ears, squeezing her eyes shut. "You don't!"

"El," Shota said, calmly. "Sit still. It hurts more when you move around." Eri shook her head defiantly. "Eri—" She shook her head again, more tears spilling from her eyes. The nurse tried again to catch the girl off guard, but failed. "Come here," her father said. "You're going to hurt yourself. Let the nurse help you."

Eri slowly climbed into his lap, thinking they were going to leave or that the nurse would leave. But she realized quite rapidly that she was wrong; her father's hands crossed hers on her lap, but held them as to provide comfort in the restraint. "Daddy, _no_…!"

"Look at me," Shota instructed. "Just look at me. Okay?" Eri looked at him as told for an instant before resuming her wriggling, making labored noises along the way. "Sit still, please, and look at Daddy." Before she turned back to him, Shota nodded at the nurse to come try again while he had his daughter engaged. "Thank you. Listen to me: I don't like holding you down like this." In his peripheral, he could see the nurse readying the needle. He tightened his already-stern hold on her arms. "It makes me sad."

"It does?" Eri asked as her father smoothed a strand of her hair from her face.

Shota nodded. "Mm-hm. _So_ sad that I want to fall on the floor and throw a tantrum like you did the other day before bed." First needle done. "Remember that?"

Eri laughed a little. "You were so mad at me."

"I was. But can I tell you a secret?"

"Yeah!"

"I thought it was pretty funny." Shota smiled; the second needle left his daughter's arm. His thumb rubbed over the small flat of her hand as he spoke, "But I especially liked telling you the bedtime story afterwards. Which one was that, again?"

"It was the one about the girl and the stars—" Eri froze, finally seeing the third syringe coming. She whimpered and scrambled into her father's body again. "_Daddy_!"

"I'm here. But you have to sit still." Shota readjusted her, hugging her, but leaving her arm exposed for the nurse. As she now sobbed, he had to rationalize that she needed this; as much as she cried and fought, her health came first. "Sh, baby. It's okay. Almost done." The nurse took that as her cue to try a second time. When Eri felt the gloved hand around her elbow, she resisted, shot back her arm, grabbed her father's hand, clenched her fist so hard that crescents decorated her father's hand. "It's okay," Shota said, successfully pinning his daughter's limps to her body. "It's okay that you're scared. But if you move, it only gets scarier."

"Okay," Eri agreed. "I won't move. I won't move." The third needle slipped in with only a short, tearful gasp and a deeper indent of her nails in her father's skin. Eri bite her lip the whole time, willing back a scream as she clung to Shota.

Shota watched her, though she kept her eyes down as if focused. She did not scream or fight the fourth needle, sure—but she was _not_ happy. The fourth and final needle came with only one irritated, but sluggish jerk with Shota holding her arm to her body. "Good job, piglet," he complimented afterwards. "See? You did it."

But she was having none of it.

Though, Shota knew their relationship was too strong and well-maintained to be washed away by a doctor's visit, he suspected the scars from her previous life might rise…and that maybe, naturally, she would look to him for the source of the memory pains. But he was not going to give up and give her up that easily.

After dinner, at Eri's favorite pho shop, they walked. And they walked, window-shopped, Shota talked, and they got ice cream. Eri's ice cream fiasco was taller than her own head.

By the time the two made it back to 6th Street, Eri's scowl and watery eyes never faltered; if anything, her lip started to tremble, and her father caught it, despite her attempt to hide such displeasure under the pink wool scarf.

"All right. You want to hit me?" Shota suggested, causing her to pull a face of perplexity. "Come on. Would that make you feel better? I can understand why you might want to." He knelt down before his daughter, watching her watch him. "Only this once. Understand?" He tapped his cheek with his finger. "Get it out of your system."

Eri stared at him, blinking in confusion and tilted her head. Sure, she had been upset with him for the majority of the day into the evening. She definitely did not appreciate being held down while the nurse pricked her. But…to strike her own father, the very man who had been patient, empathetic, and kind enough to her to even change himself to provide a more carefree life for her. With chip-painted fingernails—lavender, like Rapunzel's dress—she instead took gentle hold of her father's wavy layers that hung by his cheeks and kissed the broad scar under his eye, which shocked him enough to change his expression from stoicism to stupefaction. "I love you, Daddy."

Shota swore as he smiled softly at Eri that she was never the one he saw coming, if anyone at all. But he knew she was only one he could imagine returning to him, the one who would mean it when she said that she wanted to be with him, flaws and all. When she had said that she loved him, every time he believed her. Never before had he known someone that made him race around town for a specific toy, clean up his mostly monotonous life, and yet, even after driving him crazy, could still make him wish to live the day all over again.

But he found her. "I love you, too." Under the warm light of the lamppost, he kept smiling from the affection of Eri's kiss on his winter-bitten cheek.

"What did the doctor give you?" Eri asked, perking up in her usual way.

Shota was surprised she remembered. "Oh," he said, reaching into his pocket and pulling the folded yellow note out. "Uh…"

_You're a great dad, Eraserhead__._

He shook his head. "It's just, uh… The doctor's shopping list."

_R&R!_


	10. Chapter 10 - The Sublime

**A/N: **_ Ahai, all y'all. Who's OVER quarantine, guys: raise your hands. We'll get through this BS one way or another. _

_But for now, thank you all for reading and reviewing thus far. Your support and kindness is much appreciated and cherished! Sorry I haven't been uploading in a while - motivation seems to be quarantined as well... Not cool, but whatever. I got it done!_

_Please, don't be afraid to R&R! I love reading all your comments!_

_And on to the next... Enjoy!_

**Chapter 10 The Sublime**

Shota awoke in an exhausted, restless daze the next morning to Eri's foot on his face, Sushi smacking his alarm clock to the floor, Dude yowling at God-knows-what, and a dreary sky morning. His waking world brought joint stiffness, muscle irritation, and overall bodily swelling and discomfort. That, combined with the immense sting of lactic acid in every muscle from even the smallest movement, prompted Shota to easily deduce the cause of this spectral unwellness as his nine-year-long lupus phenomenon. He stretched his legs ever-so-slightly, hoping not to trigger the accompanying soreness of his muscles, to no avail and sucked in his breath in response to the pain, waiting for it to subside. _Classic_, he thought, staring up at the ceiling fan of the foreign place. _First morning in a new home, and I flare-up. Just my luck._ Cursing his sensitive immune system, rationalizing that the move—even though he did not own much furniture—must have been the reason for this particular autoimmune flare. Or maybe it was the shift of barometric pressure this time—autumn always brought unplanned rainy days. And he would admit to eating a bit too much salt and grease this past week, but with his schedule and his work- and parental loads, sometimes a burger and fries were the easiest things to grab on the go. Mic, surprisingly, was always the one chiding him for "eating like a teenager." In the event that the vegetarian Voice Hero explained to him the importance of a salad, Shota replied by deadpanning that he would rather eat his own fingernails.

He sat up slowly, relieving his back pain from a motionless night at the expense of his other muscles, which screamed acidic murder when he so much as lifted Eri's little foot from his chest. With red, throbbing, inflexible hands, he moved her to a more natural position as best he could in his bodily weakness; but it required both his trembling hands to move her leg just far enough for him to sit up. He waited there in the darkness, as to not further disrupt her sleep. Hissing, he curled over at the edge of the bed for a moment's rest, letting his head hang and closing his eyes. He reached for the orange pill bottle on his nightstand that read NAPROSYN 500MG across the width; however, when he attempted to open it, the damned thing leapt from his unable hands and landed on the carpet. He groaned, defeated, but too exhausted to even react.

_This was going to be a long-ass day_, he deduced.

"Daddy." He turned knowingly to his groggy daughter. "What're you doing? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, baby," Shota said automatically, glancing at the clock. 05:21. "Go back to sleep, okay?"

Eri knew she should listen to him, but usually in the calm of the night (or early morning), Shota would lull her back to sleep with a warm kiss on her head or form a strong nest with his arms around her. But he sat still on the other side of the double-bed, his back to her. "Did you drop something?"

"Yeah, but it's fine—"

Eri came around and pawed around the foreign space for something out-of-place. When her hand grazed upon something plastic and cylinder, she swiped it and held it to her father, noticing how it rattled. "Is this it?"

Shota took it from her and began his next task. Opening it. "Thanks, baby."

Eri watched her father's trembling hands failing to twist off the cap of a bottle that was smaller than the length of his hand. Could it really be _that_ hard? "Daddy?" Shota hummed in response. "Do you need some help?"

"No, I'm fine," Shota said.

"But…you don't look fine."

"Eri, please."

"—And you don't sound fine either."

"_Eri_." His daughter fell silent, hearing his deterrent tone. Sighing, he turned to her and handed her the pill bottle as a peace offering. "Can you…open this for me, please? You push that little tab right there down with your thumb, then turn the cap with your other hand." Eri nodded and started trying to do as told with the foreign object. Shota watched her, hating that he had to teach a five-year-old how to open a pill bottle for his own sake. He hoped she would forget throughout the day, as children were prone to do. The bottle opened. "Here," he said. Eri handed it to him with wide eyes. "Thank you for helping me."

In the silence following, she watched her father pluck out a single pill and down it with the water on his nightstand. But he did not yet lay back down; rather, he remained sitting, facing the stairs with his eyes closed. Nonetheless, his face stayed calm against the pain. He sighed, and she was not sure why, but it unsettled her.

"Piglet," he spoke suddenly in a non-negotiable voice, "go back to sleep. Everything's all right."

"Daddy—" He looked at her slowly, but the influence of his eyes, though calm in the dim light of the alarm clock, made her realize that she should not argue. She expected a lecture, somewhat, in the darkness of the early morning.

But instead, her father said: "Daddy just needs to relax. But it's okay, okay?" Though it came with throbbing and stabbing pain in the involved muscles and joints, he reached back and smoothed her hair. "Get some more sleep, please."

So, she did. But right as she fell into a quiet slumber, she reached out and gripped her father's shirt. And when Shota finally urged his stiff body to lay down again, he pulled her to his chest—that way, when she woke, she knew his snappish tone had nothing to do with her, and that everything truly was all right.

##

"So," Shota announced to his and Vlad King's classes, subconsciously rubbing his swollen wrist. He had opted out of using his cane today, though it would help his mobility and balance until the flare-up subsided. "Now that the intro's over and done with… Be vigilant. Be proactive. Be heroes, and handle your business. Get to work."

"**Yes, sir!"**

"Aizawa, a word," Midnight's voice pierced through the air.

"Sure," Shota said in his usual tone. "Eri, stay here next to All Might and Vlad. Okay? Daddy'll be right back." Eri nodded. "It's irrational to pull me away from my class the moment they get started," he said, shoving his hands in his pockets. He looked Midnight in his usual way, but he already knew what this discussion—which was _so _important as to disrupt his class—entailed. He nodded toward the far corner of the U.S.J. and trudged on over with her behind him. As best as his lupus-attacked body would allow. Somewhere behind him, he heard Midnight hum in pleasure at his slight limp—she knew his body too well to pick on whenever he was trying to conceal pain. He rolled his eyes before turning to her. "So?"

"You left so abruptly the other day," Midnight said without hesitation. Shota nodded slowly, indicating that her observation stretched as far as that which was obvious. He shrugged at her as if to say: _yeah, and…?_ Midnight smirked, though her irritation sharpened her voice. "Don't tell me Eraserhead's manners have finally taken off for good."

"Either that, or my interest took a swan dive," Shota replied, sighing.

"Even then, you never do that. Something must have really been wrong."

"My daughter needed to be picked up. I told you that."

"Simple as that?"

"Simple as that."

"Well, _I _needed to be treated right."

"Nemuri, I didn't mean for it to happen like that."

"Sure."

"I'm not lying."

"Uh-huh."

"Get it through your head and quit toying with me," Shota said, sharply. "I _did _say I was sorry. None of what happened was my intention."

"You sure about that?" Midnight asked, squinting her eyes.

"—But _you_ don't get to play with my head. I'm not naïve."

"—You've been inconsiderate lately, especially to me. You're saying this was just some coincidence that worked out for you?"

Shota frowned. "Poor planning, actually, on my end."

Midnight hummed, tightening her squint. "Yeah, okay."

"Lord. Will you stop—"

"You said you wanted me."

"I have responsibilities now. I'm trying to turn myself around, again—"

"You said you wanted me and only me."

Shota gave her a baffled look, but remembered to whisper as he said, "We were having _sex_…! People…" He shook his head and turned away to calm himself, then he turned back to his colleague. "People say all kinds of things, all right? When people have sex, they spew _nonsense_. It's messed up, and I'm _so _sorry, but..."

Midnight fell silent, though not in sadness or humiliation, but anger—and beneath that, searing jealousy. "Right. Well, you can be sorry all you want."

Shota glanced over his shoulder an extra time to make sure none of his eavesdropping students were there, and then he got close to her and gave her a serious gaze. "We have to stop this. What we had going on…it's bad. It's _really _bad, and we're going to run out of luck if it keeps up. I can't afford to lose this job. Quite literally."

"It's that brat," Midnight spat. "Isn't it? That little girl's ruining your life."

Shota's eyes sharpened. "Do _not _disrespect _my _child—"

"She's locking you down! Do you even _want _that?"

"If I wasn't prepared for that, I wouldn't have adopted her."

"What if this is a mistake?"

"It's not."

"How do you know?"

"Gut feeling."

"_Really_?" Midnight shook her head, baffled. Gut feeling? Eraserhead, Shota Aizawa, never relied on gut feelings or emotions, or anything besides cutthroat rationality. "Shota, are you serious—"

Shota's expression confirmed that he was. "I've been trying to listen to it more these days. It hasn't wronged me yet. If I had done so sooner," his tone grew colder, but more owlish, "maybe I could have avoided _a lot _that went wrong in my life so far. Maybe I would've been smarter. I don't know." He shrugged. "But do I have to explain this to you…? Not particularly."

A moment so grimly tense washed over the two, with Shota staring at her, and Midnight gathering her thoughts. "How could you do this to me?" Midnight urged, taking a step closer to Shota, who inched back. "How could you just throw away what we had—"

"Right. How could I?" Shota's brow fell dark, stone-like and frigid like his clipped voice. "What did we have? A weekly mercy fuck? A bloody distraction from the poor excuses we call our lives?"

"We had something serious, _Shota. _Or—"

"—Get out of here with that weak shit."

"You don't mean that."

"Am I wrong?"

"You're _such_ an asshole."

"I'm not trying to fight and I'm not trying to hurt you. Honestly. But we have to stop all this fooling around. And if I can keep being honest, I'm completely over this conversation. I have class."

"Then, I'll text you from the other room."

"I'll just look past it," Shota said, shrugging.

Midnight squinted and shook her head. "Don't be difficult."

"I said, I'm done talking."

"So, let's stop talking," Midnight engaged, getting just a bit closer to him, "and do what we do best together."

"Nemuri. No," Shota said, firmly. He sighed, trapped between wanting her so terribly to have at him, knowing his body would overall be disappointed in the aftermath, and trusting that his gut would not fail him. "Like, a thousand times no."

"Shota," Midnight insisted, shifting her hips in a way that made her appear younger, much younger. Like a schoolgirl caught in the act. She flicked her eyes up to him. "I don't want anyone else."

"—Oh, my God," Shota deadpanned, raising his brows. "Will you _stop_?"

Midnight frowned. "_What_?"

"Why? Why me?"

"Because."

With a sarcastic smirk, Shota offered, "Too much sauce for you to handle? But you always liked the challenge. Right?" Midnight looked him up and down, and shook her head with a denying groan. "Just say it."

She rolled her eyes, though his (defensive) ego never failed to arouse her beyond her ability to joke about it. "You're hopeless. Don't tease me with my own tricks—"

"I have a child, Nemuri," Shota said, wiping all humor from his expression and letting it sag to neutrality again, "and I'm finally taking my life back, getting my shit together."

"Yeah, right. I'll believe it when I see it," Midnight declined.

"Well, I don't exactly have to prove anything to you."

"You do because I've been such a huge part of your life until now." Shota sighed heavily, raking his bangs out of his face for a moment. Patience evaded him as quickly as one could blink. But he listened. "I don't see how you can just cut me out so easily. After everything. Just because of some little girl."

Shota cleared his throat, glancing around them for a moment. "I don't exactly want my five-year-old wondering why Daddy's screaming bloody murder throughout the night. _Obviously_."

Midnight's frown tightened, hearing this. After a moment's pause, she met Shota's eyes again. "You really think you can do this? Raise an emotionally damaged child, all on your own? You're far worse of an emotional wreck than she is."

Shota took a slow, dragging breath, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Not true. What she's been through is unforgivable. I'm her father, so I want to give her her best shot."

"Turning your life around, my ass." Midnight glanced away from him for a moment, recollecting her thoughts, scowling at the defeat she knew was coming. Shota was stubborn as all hell when he wanted to be. "You're lying to yourself, and to her."

"You're one to talk, saying all this nonsense about our irrationality being rational decisions."

"You're an addict."

"Huh?" Shota's entire body sagged more than usual as his expression broke with irritated confusion. "Look, we're over. A _thousand_ times over. Okay?"

"You may have gotten clean years ago, but you're still an addict."

"Lower your voice."

"—To me."

"Rot," Shota scoffed. "This conversation's complete rubbish, honestly. I'm done. I'm through. I have class."

Midnight raised her hand to slap him, but he caught her arm as though he had expected it. "You need me! I'm all you need! Not Eri! Not anyone else!"

At the sound of her voice cracking, Shota hardened his resolve and caught her other arm when she swung it at him. "Voice. _Lower _it," he warned through gritted teeth.

"_I _got you this job! _I _made you!" Luckily, the students were too busy screaming orders and arguing over safety protocols to notice an additional voice barking up the place.

Shota replied, coolly, "No, you didn't." Letting go of her, he stepped back in case she planned to shoot out another attack. "I made me, and I built me back up—twice: once for my family, and again for Eri. That's the reality."

Midnight took a moment before chancing, "You won't make it without me."

"Watch me." Not expecting a response, he left her there, shoving his hands back in his pockets. He crept up, or limped toward, on All Might and Vlad King in the midst of their conversation about bar-hopping or something. "What'd I miss?"

All Might spat out blood and coughed. "Aizawa…! You scared me!"

"He _is_ the stealth expert around here, you know." Vlad King patted the former pro-hero's back gently. He then scowled at Shota as if he were telling him to stop bullying a younger sibling. "Could you tone it down when he's around?"

Shota crinkled his nose in response. "Tone it down…? All I did was walk up to you two."

"It's all right," All Might insisted, composing himself. "I've always been too easily distracted."

"Well, hang on, old man." Shota crossed his arms, painfully, watching the students scurry about. "Maybe I'm just _that_ bad-ass at what I do."

"There's that, too. Of course."

Vlad King sighed. "I think you're both nuts in your own way."

Shota turned to where he left Eri. "Ellie, you okay—" He scowled when he did not see those huge, ruby eyes staring expectantly at him. He turned around, going in a full circle. "El-Belle?" To his fellow teachers, he asked, "Have you seen her? Did she wander off?" Slumping his shoulders, he deadpanned, "Please tell me she didn't wander off."

"Sorry, I'm not sure," All Might said, peeking around Shota for extra measure. "I could have sworn she was just next to me."

"Are you serious?"

Vlad King scoffed, crossing his arms. "She's _your_ daughter."

"Damn it! Eri?" Shota called. Jiro, Asui, Shoji, and Midoriya nearby turned to him in question, but he gave them a wave meaning that everything was fine and that they had better focus on their assignment. He walked down the stairs, painfully, to the Central Plaza, where he had had his face demolished by a Nomu.

Midoriya called out to him, "Sensei! What's wrong? What happened to Eri? Is she all right? Did she go missing?"

"Everything's fine. Back to work."

"But, sir…"

"Now, Midoriya, but keep your eyes open for her. Eri?!"

This time, more students—Iida, Uraraka, Bakugo, and Mineta—looked over to see why their teacher was calling. Somewhere between his own thoughts and the occupant sounds of the courses being used by the other kids, he heard Iida mutter in despair to himself, "Sensei trusted Midoriya more than _me_. But I'm the class rep…!" Pretty sure, too, Shota heard Bakugo tell him to quit whimpering and shut it.

"Don't make me count," Shota muttered to himself. "One!" He waited. Nothing. Scowling now, he called out, "_Two_!" Still nothing. Catching notice of nearly half his class and Vlad's class staring at him, he said, "Focus on the disaster, kids. You're wasting time. Go. Shoo."

A cough. Splashing.

Shota froze, drawing a face no one in the room had ever seen the stern, granite Eraserhead pull. Slowly, he turned his ear to the noise behind him. None of the kids should be in the shipwreck area; the janitors cleaned the water yesterday.

_Cough. Gasp! Splash!_

"Shit," Shota hissed, hearing a particularly small voice, knowing, and wrestled off his black shirt and scarf, revealing a black **muscle** shirt, tossing them back as he sprinted towards the shipwreck, ignoring the lupus-related throbbing and tenderness in his joints.

Ashido wolf-whistled (speaking for the author herself, it seemed). "_Daaaaaaamn_, Sensei! _Woooo_! Take it off!"

"Girl, hush," Jiro said, realizing something was off.

But Ashido kept singing, "_Yaaaaasss_, Daddy!"

"Oh, my God! He's gonna wring your neck!"

"Hoe, if he can catch this pink ass!"

Shota, a great distance away now, dived into the shipwreck's water when he spotted whiteness in the deep blue. "You still don't think he can catch your pink ass?" Jiro questioned. "It took him like four seconds to get all the way over there. And on a bad day."

"Shut your flat chest up." Ashido pushed at her, playfully. "I like being chased."

"Wait!" Shiozaki called, then turned to Vlad King. "Sensei! Something's wrong!"

Midoriya hurried to her. "What's going on? Did Sensei find her?!"

All Might and Vlad King made it down the stairwell, ushering the curious classes away from the ledge of the Flood Zone. Before long, Eri surfaced by aid of her father's hands under her arms, coughing hard. Soon after, Shota came up, too, his hair completely blocking his face. "Holy shit," All Might said under all the kids' gasps.

"Over here, Eraser," Vlad King lowered the ladder into the water.

Shota moved his daughter to one side and swiped his hair from his face, and swam the two of them towards it. He pushed her up first, waiting for the Blood Hero to grab her and place her on her feet before he lifted himself out of the water, flopping down on his face, exhaustively. Both A and B students murmuring in jumbles filled the room, asking if Eri was okay, if he was okay, how she had fallen in the water in the first place. All Might placed a towel around Eri, and then her father. "Thanks," Shota said to both teachers, quickly recovering his breath. He half-crawled to his daughter, ever so cautious not to tower over her, and snatched her shoulders, checking her face. "Are you okay? Baby, look at Daddy. Are you okay?"

"Uh-huh…" Eri said, chin wobbling and eyes wide. She hugged herself, avoiding her father's eyes soon after. She knew soon enough he would be angry. She gathered the slight warmth from her body and tucked herself into her towel.

Shota swiped his thumb over her eyes and nose to clear them of water, agitation and near-dread gravid in his entire being, completely unconscious of the audience. "Here." He stripped off his towel and draped it over her, shielding her from the cold.

"Sensei," Hagakure said, holding his shirt to him. "You dropped your shirt."

"Thanks, love." He secured Eri's towel before draping his long-sleeve around her shoulders. Eri's shivering, if not immense fear, made her face swell up right as her father cupped her cheeks in his hands. "Is that better?" She nodded slightly, taken by surprise when her father snatched her in a tight embrace. "You're safe. It's okay." Hearing this, she quietly began to cry into his weighed-down hair, concealing herself from the onlookers.

All Might, Class A and B, and even Vlad King could not believe what they were witnessing. Cementoss called from afar. "Everything okay over there?"

"Everything's fine," called back All Might. He turned back to the once-in-a-lifetime scene. Not one in the room had ever seen Shota so afraid, so unprepared, so anxious. He never knew much about Eraserhead or Shota Aizawa—even when he asked, there was never a wholesome answer. But he knew enough as a former pro-hero to point out misfortune in a world-weary soul. He knew his colleague had been through enough and that he was resilient, but the heroic side of All Might always wished Shota the best. Some light. And Shota found her. All Might smiled until he caught sight of Shota's brows narrowing and his expression drooping to one of rising fury. "Uh-oh. Hey, young'uns, why don't we—"

Shota pulled Eri back by the elbows and glared burrows in her eyes. "What were you thinking? Huh?" Eri whimpered and looked down. "What did I say _not_ to do whenever we're in here?!"

"Wander off," Eri replied, feeling even smaller than three-four.

"And what did you do?!"

"I wandered off."

"What were you doing over there, huh?" Eri looked down and bit her wobbling lip, pulling her father's long-sleeve closer to her body. She jerked her attention right back up when Shota directed, "Look at me." Keeping his attention on his daughter, he flung out a dismissing hand at the students, prompting the other teachers to catch on and start steering the pro-herolings out of the area. "When I told you to stay close to me, what do you think that meant?" Eri looked away from his frightening glare for a minute of relief before darting them back before he could reprimand her for it. "This is called 'disaster training' for a reason. It's dangerous. You could have drowned, and I wouldn't have known!"

The only response he got from his daughter was a small noise and a sniffle as she wiped her leaking eyes. The students' whispers occupied the space, not that Shota or Eri noticed.

"Oh, man," Awase noted. "He's really letting her have it."

Monoma said, calmly, "Unless _you_ want to be next, you might want to hush up."

Shota sighed to calm himself, realizing he had just yelled. "_Yes, _I've noticed you've needed some space recently. But when I say to do something, I have reasons. I'm not just ordering you around. Understand?" Eri gently wiggled around in her father's hold, growing more agitated that he did not budge. "Stop fighting me. I need a verbal answer so I know you get what I'm saying." In his peripheral, he could see All Might and Vlad King, even though they were trying to move the students from the Aizawas, peeking over at him. But his temper was piqued, too piqued to care. "Answer me right now."

Eri made a small defiant noise, knowing she was only getting herself into more trouble.

"_Eri Aizawa_," Shota said, sharply. "I said now." Despite his tone, the warning itself, and her well-known knowledge of the house rules, in and out of home, she resisted him with head-shakes and labored noises. "It's like that?" He stood and turned to his wincing class, who knew their teacher's strictness all too well and avoided his eyes. "Shove off to your next disasters: my kids, head to either Conflagration or Downpour."

"_**Oss**_**, Sensei!**"

"Vlad's: you get Ruins and Landslide."

"_**Oss**_**, Eraserhead-sensei!**"

"Don't waste time. Listen to Cementoss." To Eri, he said, "Come on." He held out his hand for her, who still dodged and refused to chance her Quirk. But Shota was in no mood for this behavior, and promptly grabbed her wrist, sending her the sternest glare she had seen yet.

Vlad King shook his head, bitter for multiple reasons, as the students had left a while ago, "You'll make the world safe and sound for her, huh?" Shota broke his pace to send him a particularly harsh glower, and just as he stepped up in the other pro-hero's face—

All Might came between the two, hands up. "Sekijiro, come on. Leave him be."

Unflinching, Shota held his glare for a tad longer before he stalked off with his daughter. Even with a wide-eyed child beside him, such a glare could maim a soul beyond comprehension.

##

Eri was truly upset that she had to spend the first afternoon in their new home in her room; but more so that her father had been incurably upset with her. More than he had been when she wandered off at the grocery store, or any time she ran hysterically through the house. The walk to the 1-A Alliance was dead-silent, as Shota was calming himself; and by the time they were on their flat on the sixth-and-a-half floor, his eyes were still quite razor-like, but steady and resolved. He no longer grimaced at everything, no longer clenched that tight muscle in his jaw every few seconds, no longer squeezed her arm without tire.

She knew that she was in no place to complain or whine, but she did not particularly enjoy being confined to her bedroom, especially after the two, stern whacks he had inflicted on her rear for disobeying and putting herself in danger. It hurt, but not as urgently as the heaviness in her heart after he had given her a complete rundown of why he was angry and why it was he had to discipline her (and also, that he _really_ did not want to, but he needed to). Even as the lecture and the spanking went on, he was collected, poker-faced, with nothing besides parental concern swirling the bronze of his eyes. His voice was serious, but he had let her hold his free hand while he carried out the tough love. And afterwards, he remained with her in his arms, sitting on his lap, as long as she needed him to, letting her take the lead, letting her cry until she no longer needed to without impatiently telling her to stop. They sat in silence, aside from her sniffling as he gently rocked her. Making sure that, for the length of her room-time, she would not be crying by herself or, in the event that she was upset and thought he was still furious with her, dread seeing him again.

Frankly, he saw it as irrational to carry on being cross at her for long after—do the crime, do the time, and all's well that ends well. Move the hell on together. That was what family was supposed to do.

It was not her first time with pain, obviously—but it was her first encounter being disciplined by someone who loved her. She felt affection radiating off her father like cologne, along with the hint of dread of having to give her the hand when all he truly wanted to do was hold her to him. Afterwards, after a bath to warm and clean the chlorine from her skin and hair, and after a hug and a short talk of reassurance that he loved her and only did what he did because of that, he told her to go back to her room until he called. It had been five minutes since he had left to shower.

From her room, she could smell lunch downstairs—something rich, but not overwhelmingly so—along with the lavender-cedarwood scent of her father's lotion. She heard him on the phone, probably with All Might, "Yeah, no. You guys go ahead. I'm staying back here with my girl. Think she needs all my attention today." He paused. "No, everything's fine… Yeah… Thank you for that."

She wondered, in her solitude, how her father managed to remain calm and still be so kind to her after today. She knew he loved her—he said it all the time, and she said it back—but even then, no matter how much trouble she caused, he always came back. Was that what he meant every time he said, "I love you"? That he would never, no matter how bad she was, leave her side or be cruel to her? Confused, unsure, and unsettled by such uncertainty, Eri clasped the ends of her hair in her lap and wrapped her face in the strands. Chisaki was right: she only attracted bad…

"Eri," Shota's voice snatched her from her short doze. She looked up to find him hunkered before her bed with soft, but exhausted eyes. Seeing her all wrapped up in her hair, a short smile rose to his face. "What're you doing, like that?" Eri shrugged, letting her hair fall naturally and gripping her legs. A short moment passed before her father spoke again. "Lunch's ready. You can come out now. Bet you're hungry."

"Okay," Eri responded, awkwardly.

Ever observant, Shota caught on to the downshift of her tone, how she gripped her hands, and kept watching her. He laid his head on his hands, which rested on the bed beside her. "How we doing?"

"I'm fine."

Shota gave her a worried frown, lacing his fingers into each other. "Uh… Right. Okay." Another small moment of quiet passed the two; Eri staring solemnly into her lap and Shota shooting glances here and there in troubled rumination. "No…" He scowled and lifted his head. "_No_." Eri peeked up at him, so he swept aside a curtain of white hair that had fallen to her face, ringing it behind her ear. "What I meant is: what's on your mind right now?"

"I… I don't know."

"How do you feel? Are you mad at me? Sad? Did I say or do something wrong? Can you tell me—" He stopped. Berating her with questions was neither helpful to her nor rational at all. Not that Eri noticed right now, but cutting it off now would prevent any future habit thereof. So, he took a breath. Nervous that he had been too harsh with her, remembering what it was like being so horribly scared of a parent at her age, he asked in a sullen voice, "Are you scared?"

Eri shook her head.

"Mad?"

Shake.

"Sad?"

A hesitant shake.

"Oh," Shota said, slightly surprised by her answers. He took a moment. "You're afraid to touch me because of your Quirk. Is this because of what happened at your friend's house?"

Eri sniffled and squeezed herself into her body, confirming this.

"You just held my hand a while ago. And yesterday at the doctor's." Eri winced—she had not realized it. Even in her overwhelm, she should have remembered her Quirk. Her selfishness might have cost her father's life, and she did not even notice. She would not have noticed until it was too late. "How can I make you feel better? I understand you're worried that you might lose control of your Quirk. So, tell me what you want me to do."

Eri hugged herself. "I don't know. You're still mad at me."

"Just because I'm mad doesn't mean I'm not going to try to help you. I'm your father." Shota let out a calming sigh, knowing there was more to the moment than his residual irritation. Eri was far more important than this temporary anger. He focused deeply on her eyes, her nose, her little cheeks, and waited for her to look back. "I'm listening, baby."

Shota thought back to their brief training session on Saturday, as he had promised.

**-flashback-**

They had gone to the park along the northside of Musutafu, sitting on the grass, and he had torn off a single leave from a tree. "Baby steps." He tore the leaf in half and placed it in front of Eri's knees. "First, before we even get to you touching it," he explained, patiently, "I want you to focus on your reason for using your Quirk."

Eri cocked her head to the side. "My reason?"

Shota nodded. "A Quirk used without purpose is a blind weapon." It was Ryo's quote from Shota's freshman year, their first training session. "What do you want to achieve by using your gift? What gives it its fire?" Eri stared at him. "Find the hearth."

"The hearth, okay," she said. "Daddy, what's a hearth?"

"The food that makes fire spark up. More literally…wood." Shota scratched his head. "So, what are you using your Quirk for? You understand what I'm saying?"

"Yeah."

"Once you find it, let me know." Shota crossed his arms. "And we'll move on."

Eri rather quickly said, "I wanna control my Quirk so I can have a way to protect people, and heal them, too. I wanna protect you, Daddy. I want you to see I can take care of you, too."

Shota smiled a little. "Best we get to work, then." Eri nearly bounced in excitement. "All right. Now, place your hands over the leaf. Don'ttouch it. Just hover them." She did as told, cupping her palms over it as if it were a sphere. "Good. Now, focus. Remember your hearth: protect and heal. Feel your Quirk running through you."

Eri nodded and stared at the leaf. Her tiny hands quivered, her face pinched, but she remained there, insistent on getting these primitive steps mastered. Like currents of soup from a pot, heat built up in her forehead first, then snaked down to her cheeks and neck. She broke out in a light sweat, whimpering once. Shota kept a close eye on her, ready to erase her at any given moment. In her mind, she recited her mantra: _protect and heal, protect and heal, protect and heal_. Her own unsure, pleading voice. The warmth spread to her shoulders, down her back, and to her fingertips in prickly spikes. She took a breath, bulbs of water stored on her brow.

Shota squinted, studying her face, eyeing her still-dull horn, noting how pink her cheeks were becoming. He could not help but be proud of how readily she dove into the session, eager to control the Quirk she was once told was a curse. She had come a long way, to say the least. Suddenly, Eri's horn spiked and a gold aura shot out from her being, tossing about her hair, forcing her cheeks to burn red. In the panic, she shot her hands to the ground for stability. Shota blinked hard before activating Erasure. The gold dissipated to nothingness and her hair collapsed, but her horn remained pointed. Shota easily caught her in his arms when she slouched. "I gotcha. You okay?" He looked at the dirt-circle where her hands had been. No leaf, and the grass appeared like it had been yanked out by the roots.

Eri wiped the sweat from her forehead and squinted into her father's glowing eyes, how they bent the sunlight into little fragments of rainbows orbiting the red. "Sorry, Daddy."

"Sweetheart," Shota said, smoothing her hair from her wet face. "There's nothing to apologize for. That's why we're practicing, right?"

Eri gripped the rims of her shirt. "Right."

"That was a good first try, though. A little too good."

"I lost control…"

Shota shrugged. "Back when I was in high school—did I ever tell you I did theatre?"

Eri shook her head. "What's theatre?"

"It's like TV in person." Shota chuckled. "My point is: my teacher gave us the advice that it's better to overperform than to underperform when you're first starting out."

"Really? Did you do too much, too?"

"No," Shota said. "Daddy thought it was all crap, so he didn't try as hard." In truth, well…anyone who knew him in the slightest would pick up that he was awfully private. In truth, he once enjoyed theatre, but for the sake of his own rational, guarded comfort, he rarely let himself free and took to off-stage duties most of the time. Same with his writings (he published his works under the pseudonym, S.F. Aizawa, his mother's maiden initial between his), though he was most honest therein. Same with his music (again, a pseudonym; Sheeran's name, actually). "My point, again, is that you're on the right path. So, don't be discouraged that I had to cancel you. Everyone's safe, okay?"

"Okay."

"And as long as I'm around, so are you." Eri looked at him, quickly. He smiled. "_Most_ importantly."

**-present day-**

After an unsuccessful attempt to get Eri to talk, a near-quiet lunch slugged by. The only real sound in the complex belonged to the Bluetooth speaker in the open living room in the center of the place—_Heartless _by Kanye West quaked the house with its explosive bass. That, and the occasional shuffle of papers and pattering of the Shota's typing. All seemed somewhat peaceful.

Until Eri refused to comply with the clock. Her usual naptime. Actually, it was late by thirty minutes because lunch carried out longer than usual. To that, they owed to the lingering silence between the two. The space of unapproached emotions and thoughts due to the start of the day.

"Eri, that's enough," Shota directed, leaning on the stairs' banister. "Come here. It's your naptime."

From the living room's couch, Eri squeezed into herself again and squeaked out a defiant "No."

"What do you mean, 'no'?" He frowned in surprise, on top of his pained scowl from his lupus-beaten joints. "You think after what you did today that I'm gonna take that?"

"I—!" Eri shot her eyes to her legs, losing her nerve the more she looked at her father. "No… I don't know…"

Shota's tone hardened. "You don't know? Then why say it?"

"I don't know, Daddy!" Eri covered her face with screens of her hair, rocking herself where she sat on the couch. "I don't know, I don't know, I _don't_ know!"

Shota raked his hair from his face for a moment to calm himself. "Okay, look." Eri peeked at him, having worked herself onto the carpet. "I'm not appreciating your tone right now. So, you can either drop it and come upstairs like I asked, _or_ we'll do this the hard way. Trust me, neither of us want that."

"Go away!" A knife struck through her core, and it turned when she saw her father's beyond-livid expression.

"Excuse me?" Shota squinted at her, unsure what made her think that was okay, but bothered enough to want to correct it, regardless. He took a breath, remembering all the modern-parenting advice he read up on before adopting. Almost too rehearsed, he said, "I can see you're upset. What can I do to make you…"

Eri slipped him a glare of annoyance, wet with tears, biting back more harmful words. She heard him. But she was not listening.

Choosing to trust his gut rather than some blog, he pushed, "That was not very nice. Why would you say that to me?"

Eri scoffed, much like he did whenever he was on the phone arguing with whoever.

With no enthusiasm to raise himself—he knew he was an asshole, sometimes—Shota knew he had to stop it before it started. "Eri, answer me. Don't make me come down there."

Eri pouted, not even looking at him.

Seeing this petulance, Shota bit the inside of his cheek, clenching the muscle by his jaw. But nothing would clear the irritation building inside him. He was too tired, in too much pain for this. _Fuck it_, he thought. He came down on the floor in front of her, gripping her elbows and staring deeply at her with a glare that easily toppled hers. "Listen to me, right now," he warned, letting the throbbing in his joints subside. "You _do not_ talk to me like that, and when I tell you to do something, you do it."

Eri whimpered, displeased with how difficult her father made it to ignore him.

"I can see you're unhappy about something. And I can't help you unless you _stop_ throwing a fit and _tell_ me what's going on."

Eri squirmed in his hold, but she could not turn away or drop her eyes from his. He was _right_ there. "It's nothing…!"

"It's not nothing. If it was, why would you tell me to go away?"

"I don't know…"

"Tell me what you're feeling." Shota calmed himself with another breath, lowering his hold to her hands, to which she flinched away quickly. So, he placed his hands on his knees, a tad injured by this. "Hm?"

"I'm… I'm scared! And I'm sad, too…! And I want you to _go_ away…!"

"Okay, but that doesn't mean you get to act rude," Shota rationalized. "If you need help, all you have to do is ask. _Nicely_." He sighed to calm himself before looking back to her. "So… How can I help you?"

Eri scowled at her feet. Why wouldn't he take the hint? "I don't know."

"Yes, you do. I know when you're lying to me. Now, answer me." Shota could imagine the kindergarten mommy-vultures hurling rocks at him for this encounter. But screw them—this was his daughter, and no one else knew her like he did. If Eri misbehaved repetitively, then she had to learn that that would merit no more Mr. Nice Daddy. At the end of the day, he was her _father_, not her _plaything_. Playthings could not give her structure, or hug her, or sing to her. Playthings had no ears to listen to her worries, no voice to speak nonsense with her until she laughed or impersonate monsters whenever they played hide-and-seek, and no arms to lift her high in the air like she was crafted of the most valuable substance. With another single, resolving breath, he repeated, "Tell me how I can help you."

Eri's eyebrows slammed down in a harsh frown, and she spat out, "No!"

"No, you don't want to tell me?" Shota guessed, returning with his own confused scowl.

"_No_!"

"No, _what_?"

"_Nooooo_!" Overwhelmed by tears, Eri keeled over in a fetal position, her face in the carpet.

Shota watched her for a moment before grasping his bangs at the root, groaning in irritation with rolling eyes. "Eri Aizawa, I am _exhausted_. You understand?" He looked at her, fiercely, dropping his hands to his lap. "I am _so_ tired, and I am in _so _much pain today! You understand me?!" He held his hands together, as if praying (and if he was, he was praying to the Lord for an overdose on patience and some _holy-ass mercy _for Eri). "All I'm asking is for you to just _talk_ to me. That's it! I'm not gonna get mad, and I'm not gonna punish you! When have I ever yelled at you for telling me how you were feeling?!"

Eri's response was to grab one of the couch pillows and toss it at her father, who took the soft blow to the face without even trying to stop it. The pillow dropped into his lap, but he did not move. Instead, he rose his eyebrows as if mildly surprised and blinked a few times as if to assert: _are you serious?_

Clearly fed-up beyond comprehension, Shota gave his daughter the Look of lines terribly crossed, lowering his voice to a dangerous tone. "You shittin' me, right?" he muttered low enough for her not to hear. Then, louder, he said, "Are you _kidding_ me? Sit down."

Eri stood up and backed away from him, realizing the weight of her decision and seeing an opportunity to book it.

"I…am giving you one more shot at this. _Get_ over here and _sit_ down," Shota ordered her, calmly under the storm, moving nothing but his eyes. "I _promise_ you: this is your _last_ chance before I _snatch_ your butt—"

Eri tried to run past him, hoping he would not chase her down or grab her—but knowing he would. Quite easily, he grabbed her upper arm, convinced that he had gone too easy on her before; and reeled her in close to dish out discipline, not even having to rise from where he sat. "_No_! Daddy! You'll disappear!"

This brought Shota pause, and he was thankful to have heard her—a second later, and he would have brought his hand down. "What?" he said, softly. "Is that what all this is about?" Eri hugged herself again in dreadful anticipation, unsure if he was planning on going through with the smack. Completely over this, over her mistrusting herself, over all the tantrums and screaming, he spun Eri back around to face him. Saying nothing, he reached for Eri's hand, causing her to scream and retract her arm. "Easy. It's okay—"

"No!" Eri screamed, louder when he successfully and firmly pulled her hand from its hiding place under her arms. "_No_!"

But he never let go. Having analyzed her Quirk from the first time he saw it, he knew by the roundness of her horn that nothing would happen—and if anything did, he was sure his meticulous eyes would pick up on the gold glow around her. "Look at m—"

"Make me stop! Hurry!"

"I'm not doing that."

"I don't want you to go away forever!" Eri protested, tearfully. "Let me go!"

"I'm not going anywhere," Shota said, watching her with a still face and an iron grip on her hand.

Distraught, her legs collapsed as she broke down in panicking tears, dangling from her hand that her father held.

Shota pulled her to him, but she fell down again, kicking the carpet, insistent on her tantrum. In the scramble, he managed to drag her into his lap, gentler this time. "Come here." Reaching for the ground, she tried to crawl from Shota's body, stretching and flailing her body and arms and legs in all directions, screeching tremendously that the students downstairs thought he was slaughtering her. But Shota snatched her back. "_No_, come here," he said, deafening himself to her stubborn, desperate cries. "It's okay—"

One of Eri's kicking legs charged into his crotch, causing him to tense with a single noise for a moment before anger overtook him. She tried to crawl away in that brief window of freedom, but he got a handful of her ankle and pulled her back. The tantrum picked up right where it left off, and her screams reverberated off the walls.

"_Stop_ it." Eri's response was another recklessly thrown limb—her arm—to his face. Shota gasped, taken way aback that she had hit him again, and decided he had been going immensely easy on her. "Eri, _relax_! Come— Don't make me sit on you!" He threw one of his legs over her waist to trap her with his calf and pulled her arms to one side before using the length of his arm to secure them with a single large hand.

Now entangled in her father's limbs, panting heavily, Eri fought tirelessly, screeching like a little beast, to get free as if she were caught in feral vines. It took another minute for her to exhaust herself, and Shota remained in the same, grappling position, shutting his eyes to find the final inch of patience in his existence.

Over her noises of struggle and the noise of her wrestling, Shota strained to calm himself against her behavior, finding it nearly intolerable. "Shh…" She was not going anywhere—along with stealth and hand-to-hand, the Erasing Hero was skillful in capture—but he could not stand her difficultness that had been irking him for days now, in short, harsh intervals. So, he snatched her hand and secured his fingers around her palm so she could not rip away.

Feeling the clammy heat from his palm to hers, Eri gave one last pull.

"_No_," Shota directed. "Look at me." Eri stopped fighting and locked eyes with her father, cautiously, remembering that she had already been in a load of trouble earlier. "See?" Shota held their locked hands up to her, ignoring the constant, lupus-inflicted pain he was in. "I'm fine. Okay?"

Eri craned her neck to stare at him, half-dangling over his knee. "But—"

"I told you not to use your Quirk without permission, and guess what? I trust you!" Shota bit back his volume and tone. A bit. "Okay? I trust you'll listen to me. I know my daughter."

Eri blinked in shock, unsure what to do or say. Her father moved her hand to his face, her palm on his cheek. She pulled at his grip a little, eyes beginning to water. "_Daddy_—"

"Shh," Shota said, his voice now a lulling tone. "I'm still here. I'm still an old man. I'm okay, okay?" Eri made a small noise, a whimper. Already her entire expression had calmed. Shota sighed, looking forward, and let go of her hand, which she held to her chest. "Remember what I said when I brought you home for the first time?" Eri looked at him. "I told you you aren't a curse. That you _and_ your Quirk are beautiful. I wasn't lying. I love every part of you, so don't be afraid. You won't hurt me."

She could think of nothing but to simply stare at him, despite his strict, irritated scowl. Amazed or shocked, or both, she did not know which she felt. All she saw was that her father truly did appear to be quite under the weather; and yet, there he was, unrelentingly hellbent on making sure she was all right.

Shota looked down at her eventually with eyes that were more saggy than usual. "What?" There was still a bite to his tone, but Eri was no longer worried. His eyebrows raised. "Hm?"

She shook her head slowly after a while.

Shota rested his cheek in his hand, his elbow balanced on his knee, as he was sitting cross-legged. The perfect chair for his daughter. "Listen to me," he said. "I'm glad you told me what was worrying you, but I'm _not_ happy that it took _that_ long. I don't want to have to bark at you or wrestle you or whatever just to hear what you're thinking about." He scowled in his usual way, sticking his bottom lip out just a tad while his brows angled downwards. "I'm your dad. That's what I'm here for, y'know."

"Okay," Eri said, letting her legs hang over his other knee, still laying on her back in his lap. With all the trouble she had caused recently, she knew she should not push any more of her father's limits, especially when she caught sight of the irritated, swollen state of his fingers, of his wrist.

Remaining in the same position, Shota eyed her and moved his wrist to shield her from it. "Sorry if I did or said anything that made you feel you couldn't talk to me straight-up." He figured since she was at an impressionable age, she may have learned his terrible habit of being overly private, even in the event that he was in pain or near-collapsed from overwork.

Eri twisted her hair and looked down. "I'm sorry, too," she said. "And it wasn't you. I was just scared." Her bottom lip was still quivering and her eyes still wet, so her father listened carefully. "I didn't want to hurt you. So, I figured if I was mean, you wouldn't come near me. And if you didn't come near me, you wouldn't go away." She curled into herself a little, hugging her arms. "And I _really_ didn't mean to fall in the water, too. I'm sorry I broke the rule about wandering off. I just…"

"I understand," Shota said from his palm, staring at the wall. Considering, Shota realized today stood as the first real occurrences in which he had become genuinely angry with his daughter. Today topped the supermarket scare weeks ago. Was that a good thing? Or did it imply future hell to come?

He glanced at Eri, who scrubbed at her water-stained face with the bases of her palms, methodically, sniffling. Sighing, he released his scowl. Eri quickly eyed him.

After a moment, he shifted a bit to adjust himself and Eri. "C'mere." He opened his arms and beckoned her to him. "Let me see ya." This time, she wholeheartedly folded herself in, letting warmth shield her and his hand stroke her hair. "I'm sorry I had to be so hard on you. But I did what I did because…?"

"You love me," Eri finished, closing her eyes.

"That's right. Too much to let you act out. I know you know better." Shota put his chin on her head. "But hearing your reasoning behind everything, I get it. Trust me. I understand why you must have been so…scared."

"You do?"

Her father nodded. "All I want is for you to tell me what you want—"

"I just don't want to hurt people."

"I understand."

"And I want…" Eri bit her lip, breaking eye contact. "I want…you to…be okay, too. And not worry so much about me, so that you can do what you want without thinking about me."

"Huh," Shota said to himself, taking a moment. "That so?"

A short nod, and then a confident one.

"But let me get this one thing straight, Eri," Shota directed. Eri looked up at him to find him, despite the usual sag of his eyes, smirking at her. "It's _my _job to worry about _you_. That's what parents do. And you…" He pinched her nose, and after she squirmed and laughed a little, she saw his smirk shift into a smile. One that reached his eyes, gave them life, rejuvenated the dullness of his irises to a fresh oak or caramel syrup. "Just keep being you. _That's_ what I need. And it's all I want, okay?"

"Okay." Eri believed him, trusted him, as usual. But in the pit of her stomach, in the darkness intertwined in her young mind, she wanted him to forget about her. She wished he had not adopted her—not because of anything he had done, but because of that phone conversation he had had during class last week, because of how expensive it was to take care of her. She had heard the phone calls in the morning, had seen the receipts from the market, though she could never really understand currency just yet, and had taken note of all the times her father seemed so worn-out and stressed by the time his coffee high died out.

Yet he still smiled, still spoke kindly to her and called her the sweetest things. His entire expression _still_ lit up when he saw her. She did not understand how he could be that way in all his suffering, and toward her, who caused suffering. She knew he loved her—they said it all the time—but _how_? How could one love the very thing that drained him? Because of such thoughts, of the sight of her father's swellings throughout the day, sorrowful water spilled from her eyes.

Almost completely on cue, Shota's eyebrows drew down in worry as he cupped her cheek. Thinking it best to give her as much quiet and comfort as she needed, he smoothed her hair. "All right, baby," he said against her brow, unafraid of the tip of her horn that settled near his eye as he held her close.

Seeing this, how easily he loved her after everything, Eri cried at his misfortune for having such a needy daughter like her. She wished to run out of the room from him, but all she could think to do was bury her face in his chest and let his warmth engulf her. She was too selfish, and he was too giving.

He was the perfect parent, maybe _too_ perfect to the point of exhaustion. He told her he loved her every single day, and he showed it every moment of the day—much to the confusion of others whenever they saw how much Shota used direct eye contact when connecting with his daughter. She had heard from her classmates that their parents rarely hugged or kissed them, and disallowed them from meeting eyes in the event that they are in trouble. All she could say in defense was that her father was the best. But being the best had a price, a price Shota happily paid.

She saw it coming. She could see him passing out from all the stress, like they did on TV sometimes. Collapsing alone, in silence, after making sure she was sent off to sleep without a single grievance. Unmoving. She dreamed it nights ago, when her father had crawled into bed with her after they ran into the man who hurt him. The thought prompted her, now, to squeeze closer to her father's pacing heart, folding into his scent.

"It's okay," Shota said, still holding her to him, as she wished. "Just get it out."

She knew he was right. Always.


	11. Chapter 11 - Crooked

**A/N:** _ Here's another one! Hope you're all well out there! You're all great for showing me and my writing love!_

_Don't forget to R&R, please!_

**Chapter 11 Crooked **

Tucking the broom back in the nook between the fridge and wall, Shota wiped his forehead with the collar of his shirt and sighed. He was a tad grateful that All Might had to take both the 1-A and 1-B kids out for field day; finally, for the first time in days, he could spare a moment to tidy up his fifth-and-a-half-floor complex atop the Heights Alliance. The space was nice—more than he and Eri rationally needed, but it would do. Eri liked to play in every inch of the house, and she would grow up strong in all the open space; and actually, it _was _pleasant to have his kids running around after classes.

Having reconnected with Katsuki—the two had been childhood friends, around the time Shota moved to the mainland to attend U.A.—he also found that he had grown particularly close to Uraraka, who often ran to him for advice on whatever; Jiro, who routinely confided in him; Kaminari, whose lack of confidence he could empathize with; and Iida, who had randomly decided that gaining the favor of his teacher was the best way to make himself stand out as a loyal, capable class representative. Not to mention Ashido's growing crush on him, beneath the class-wide apprehension they all shared of him.

Every day, for at least an hour or two after class and training, the kids crowded into his home office with their own work and snacks just to be around him. After a week, Shota got used to them chattering and barging into his home. To his absolute shock, since he moved in, his students seemed to prefer being around him (though he figured it had to do with his cooking; which, to no fault of his own, Lunch Rush gave him an envious earful about). Much more shockingly, he began to silently enjoy their presences, too. Funny how the constant company of children would brighten the languid man's life…

But with more mouths and feet around came more demand for cleaning and keeping everything clean in the complex. The Aizawa Basecamp, the kids called his home. Or the A.B.C. He thought it was unnecessary, but soon enough it grew on him as well. Eri, though she had no idea what a basecamp was, thought it was funny and decided that to be the official name of their home. She drew a colorful sign for the foyer.

He saw it this morning, after dropping his daughter off. Since adopting, he had not seen the gray for some time. Eri brought as much life to his home as he had her heart. Each day, he lost count of how many smiles she caused him, how many laughs she dragged out of him. He nearly forgot about Tsubasa and Jong, and Vlad King, Midnight, and Ryo. The filthy blood money in the rear of his closet was barely an afterthought. He slept better than he had in years, cradling her close to his chest. The familiar gray gravity was paid no heed.

But today, he paid. It always crept within him, dormant beneath a dismissive expression and sighing voice. But today, it crept _up_ to him. It always did, somehow, no matter what he did. So, he cooked a specialty breakfast, baked excessively until he ran out of platters, worked out till the verge of collapse, and cleaned every single item in the complex after a long shower. He did not particularly feel like cooking or baking, but it always had a way of filling him with some kind of pride or purpose, more so, knowing that Eri would stuff her face with a serving of whatever he made. His class, too, now that the entire 1-A group had proclaimed themselves a second family.

Today, even _that_ came with an extensive effort.

Fully against playing his guitar or bass or piano, or anything noise related at all, he opted for a silent space. Writing had not been an option for almost two or three years. He merely wished to lay somewhere and not move. No commitments. No plans. No voices. No sound. Nobody to see and ask how they are doing, nobody around to worry about his wellbeing. Just him watching his own ass. Existing without living, some would say.

Beer sounded heavenly. Brandy, even better. But he settled for cigarettes. He had to be good. _It is not recommended to use with alcohol_, the cylinders always advised. Advised, not ordered. But, again, he had to be good.

Shota rinsed the suds from the sink, and when the water collected at the drain, he turned on the garbage disposal. A certain _chuck_ sound caught his attention, and he frowned at the plant over the sink as he watered it. He flicked off the switch. As silence overtook the complex, Shota glanced at the cup that once held Tinky, mentally preparing to approach the sink. "You're dead, aren't you?" He came to the basin in cautious, trepidatious pace; a single, ripped orange fin caught his eye, and his shoulders slouched more than usual. "Damn."

Eri's heartbroken expression now haunted his mind, her withdrawn voice swirling in his ears. She already spent yesterday evening crying in his arms. She hardly needed this additional sorrow.

Pulling a five-dollar bill from his wallet on the dinner table, he paid the Swear Jar and turned on the faucet as to wash down the remainder of Tinky's body. Now, the next thing: giving Eri the all-things-eventually-die talk. "I am…the worst father ever," he groaned, though he knew she already had some grasp on the concept. For the second time now, his cell blared Midland, causing him to jolt in surprise. So, with now a heightened sense of irritation at his recklessness, he snatched it and pressed it to his ear. "_What_?"

"Shota. It's me."

Shota pulled a bemused, shocked expression, biting back his tone. "Sensei. Hey." It had been a month—no, _months_—since they last spoke. "What's…" Sagging his posture more, he sighed heavily. "Let me guess. Midoriya and Bakugo again? Hagakure's been acting out lately, too. Is it her?" By the pause on the other end, he continued, "I'm sorry for not curbing their behavior. I'll get to it—"

"No," Ryo said, sounding tired. "Nothing like that. Your kids are fine."

"Oh."

"I wanted to check in on you, actually."

"Me?"

"How're you? How's Eri?"

Shota leaned on the counter, glancing at the remnants of his daughter's fish. "Well, she's been good. Probably not so much after I get her from school. I just killed her fish."

"Sorry to hear. Maybe a trip to the pet store will cheer her up." He could hear Ryo licking his nose on the other end. "So, you two are getting along nicely, otherwise?"

"Uh-huh." Shota slowly turned on the faucet, watching the water push the fin and half an eyeball down the drain, exercising a disgusted expression. "We're getting along swimmingly. Yep."

Ryo said nothing for a moment, not that Shota noticed as he disposed of Tinky's existence. "Are you taking your meds?"

"Sensei," Shota groaned. "You said you were calling to check in, not to start the psychologist crap…"

"Recovery Girl's been on me about your meds. Said you suffered a huge anxiety attack a few days ago." Ryo waited for a response, not that he usually got one whenever he called Shota out on his shortcomings. Not usually. So, he sighed. "I know what you're thinking. Don't get mad at Toshinori."

Shota knew he was already set on his now-increased bitterness toward All Might. He did not need confirmation to know who told Recovery Girl—Midnight never cared much about anything but sex with him, and Present Mic knew better than to give away Shota's personal details unless the situation became lethal. But he knew the truth would be written all over his best friend's face. Ryo knowing was bound to happen. Shota cleared his throat. "I don't need help."

"Okay." Ryo never believed him much. "Well, are you taking your meds?"

Shota rolled his eyes. "_Yes_, Sensei."

"Properly?"

"'Course."

"How are you fairing with them?"

"Fine." Bupropion ruined his appetite most days, and increased his insomnia during the nights. Atarax never lasted long enough, and it sometimes agitated his muscles. Risperidone only increased his anxiety and made his hands quiver more than his lupus. But that only lasted a few hours. Shota glanced at a rum bottle from nights ago. Beside it, a pill bottle. He forgot which one. "They're fine."

"So, about you and Sekijiro." Shota, expecting a lecture, sucked in some air, holding it. Ryo said carefully, "Is there…anything I can do to help you two at least be civil?"

"No," Shota replied with a chuckle. "He's an asshole. There's all there is to it."

"Why do you hate him?"

"It isn't hate," Shota admitted without hesitation. He cocked an eyebrow with shaded eyes as he said, "It's just annoyance, so... But when he pisses me off, he pisses me off." After a moment, Ryo broke out in gentle laughter, which made Shota smile a little. It reminded him of high school, or at least the good parts. "Sensei, listen. I'm really sorry—" Shota's phone buzzed harshly, and he pulled it away from his ear to look at the screen. Across the top, a notification from his calendar: _Piglet's teacher_ _12pm_. "Shit."

"You okay?"

"Sorry. I have to go. I just remembered I have something to do." Shota ran up the stairs and clumsily stripped his bleach- and sweat-ridden clothes. He wiped his face with the green bandana on his head and tossed it into the hamper with the rest. He snatched two baby wipes from the bathroom and hastily wiped sweat and chemical from his skin before scrambling into his hero costume. "Call you later, yeah?" He stuck his head through the center of the coil of his scarf.

"No problem, kid," Ryo said with a chuckle, having figured out exactly what Shota was doing in all the noise. "Make sure to come in soon. You've ducked out of the last five appointments. Don't make me come to you."

"All right, okay, I will. I swear. Bye now."

"Bye, kiddo."

Shota hung up quickly, shoved his phone in his pocket, snatched his keys from the dresser, and his boots in the front, and raced out the door, nearly diving into his car and speeding around the corner before he could even realize that he forgot his wallet.

##

"Daddy!" Eri scrambled from a blue plastic chair to race to her father. Her teacher, who sat beside her, stood in respect with a welcoming smile.

Shota, finishing a much-needed yawn, smiled instantly and lifted Eri in his arms. "Hiya, Piglet." He kissed her cheek and pressed his head to hers, as if holding her rejuvenated him. Eri giggled at the scratchiness of his stubble. "I missed you so much."

"I missed you, too," Eri replied, nestling her face in his hair. "You're sweaty! Did you run here?"

"No," Shota said, breathlessly. He held her for just a bit longer. "Just in a hurry to see you." He looked to the teacher, who smiled at the two. An awkward, but, in such awkwardness, charming smirk lifted his expression as he bowed in apology and greeting. "So sorry I'm late. Thank you for waiting."

"Not a problem. You're just in time." Ms. Akiko inched in, nodding at Eri. "She talks about you all the time."

"Good things, I hope," Shota joked. "How are you?"

She bowed in response, lower as to respect the pro-hero. "I'm well. And yourself, Eraserhead? Please..." She gestured to the chair.

"Not bad," Shota said, simply, sitting with his daughter in his lap and his hands locked at her stomach. Eri swung her feet happily, grasping onto a thick lock of his hair. "And just Aizawa's fine. Eri, easy on the tugging," he said, smiling enough for two parenthesis dimples to poke out from his smile line.

Ms. Akiko sat down as well on the other side of the desk, locking her hands together. "Thank you for taking time out of your busy schedule to meet with me."

"Anything for my baby girl."

"That's good to hear. But unfortunately, we have an issue to discuss."

"Heh?"

"It's come to my attention that Eri is…struggling to cooperate with the other children."

"How so?" Shota asked, slowly.

Eri could sense trouble coming, so she shrunk into herself, tried to remove herself from her father's legs. But his bridged hands that held her there increased in grip. She wiggled once to no avail as her teacher spoke. "Well, it's…a bit difficult to explain." When Eri looked up at her father, pleadingly, an unyielding sternness and a silent stare reserved for misbehaving children waited for her. _Sit still_, his eyes read. She pouted, he slowly rose an eyebrow, and she looked down in acceptance. The Look prompted her not to kick her legs out in her usual way. Heat rose to her face.

Shota's voice rumbled over her head as he addressed the teacher, "First of all, are the other kids being nice to her?"

"From what I've seen, yes." Ms. Akiko furrowed her thin brows in thought, recalling her semi-monotonous days spent prying children from parents, then prying children from paint bottles to their parents. Jungle gym late mornings and naptime afternoons slid by all the same in the least expected ways. All screaming, crying, but still adorable small children. Just that. That was her life. "I'm quite observant." She flicked her gaze back to Shota in a rather coquettish manner, to which he, a meticulous eye, cocked a brow and averted his stare for a moment.

"Are you sure?" Shota deadpanned, his flat gaze lessened by Eri's fidget-pulling of the fringe that hung between his eyes. "You said from what you've seen. Is that the truth?"

Ms. Akiko smiled. "I assure you, the children all get along very well! They love playing with Eri. Sometimes, getting them to pause a conversation is the hardest part of my day!"

Shota considered this. He knew his daughter had only skimmed the surface of social interactions, let alone with people outside of home. He also knew from experience that classroom talk can easily be concealed cruelty. There had to be more to the story. Eri usually had reasons, especially for acting out. "Are you absolutely sure?" he asked, finally.

"Quite sure."

He loosened his grip on his daughter, moving his hands to lightly rest on her Dove-soft elbows. "So, what does this all mean?"

"Well," Ms. Akiko continued, "I've heard from the playground monitors and I've seen for myself that she has trouble during snack time. There have been instances where she has growled at some of the kids and staff—"

"Eri, stop it," Shota gently took Eri's wrist and moved her hand from his face, taming her kicking legs with a firm arm. He sat her upright again. "Sit still, okay?" He looked back at the teacher. "Sorry. She's _growling_?"

"Yes."

"…Uh…"

"And she's actually bitten two of her classmates."

"That true?" Unmoving, Shota's eyes slid down to the top of his daughter's head. By the way she ducked under his glance, at the deepening of his voice, the answer laid itself right out there for all to see. She chanced a second-long peek before his granite expression caused her to jerk her eyes back into her lap. "El-Belle, look at me." She peeked at him again, more timidly than before, pleading him not to repeat the question. "Is this true?"

Eri's chin began to wobble. "Yeah…"

_Least she's honest_, Shota considered. He sighed, dropping The Look for an exhausted scowl, stretching his neck. "Okay, then."

Ms. Akiko put her hands up, waving them to snatch Shota's attention. "Mr. Aizawa," she said, as if she were in trouble, too, "please know the reason for this meeting is not to cause any conflict." As if her even being there annoyed him, Shota's eyes darted to her. "I'm only worried about Eri. I want her to have the best time here on top of learning as much as she can."

"Yeah, no," Shota excused, shaking his head. "I'm just working this all out in my head right now."

The teacher nodded, simply, and gave a short pause to allow him to do so. "So," she began with a soft as cotton voice, "Eri, would you like to tell us what happened? We have to know."

Eri peeked at her teacher, tiny eyebrows drawn up, and played with her pinkies. Her father's hand moved to the top of her leg, palm up and welcoming. She gingerly gripped his pinky with a shaking fist, remembering their talk a few days ago. Quirk anxiety was one thing; she needed her father's touch. His thumb rubbed the flat of her hand. "I just don't like some of them."

"Your classmates?" Shota asked, low enough that Ms. Akiko had to strain to hear him. This was not intentional, but merely to calm his daughter. "Why don't you like them?"

"They don't like _me_. Or…I think they don't."

Shota immediately turned to her teacher, who quickly said, "Oh, Eri. I'm sure this is some misunderstanding. Your classmates love you!"

"Misunderstanding or not," Shota intervened, staring Ms. Akiko down. "Something made my daughter think that."

"I keep a watchful eye on every one of them, I assure you."

"How watchful?"

"Daddy, don't be mad," Eri pleaded, tugging his shirt. "I tried. I wanted to make friends."

Shota rubbed the bridge of his nose for the umpteenth time, turned it pink against the friction. "I know, sweetheart."

"I just don't know how to…talk." Eri thought hard, under all the adult bickering. Why? Why was she like this? The other kids could talk for hours and hours to strangers and other kids. She could only do that with Daddy. But Daddy was not allowed in kindergarten. "I just don't know how to do it."

Pausing, Shota and Ms. Akiko watched her, traded glances, and then back at her. "Is that why you bit Saemi and Chiharu?" Ms. Akiko asked, softening her voice and expression. "Because you didn't know how to communicate with them?"

Eri glanced at her father, who, as subtle as he was, fostered piqued irritation in his borderline straight face. She nodded. "I'm s—"

"I am _so _sorry about this. Really." Shota was already facing her teacher.

Eri felt an impulse rise in her chest. She had to make sure the truth was out. She had to make sure she was heard before it was too late and her father apologized for her again. "I just can't talk sometimes, like you, Daddy—"

Shota shot a glare toward her. "_Enough_, Eri." Eri recoiled. He turned back to the other teacher. "I'm sorry about my daughter's recent misbehavior."

"No need to apologize! Really," Ms. Akiko excused. "All I want is for the children to be happy, productive, and safe."

"Thank you for bringing this to my attention." Eri shrunk against her father's body again, crushing under the anticipation that came with watching a parent at the peak of a long lecture-to-come. "I assure you this will be the last time you will hear of this kind of behavior."

"I deeply care for Eri. Thank you for taking the time to come here today."

Shota stood when Ms. Akiko did, lifting Eri from his lap and setting her on the ground. He gripped her hand in the usual, tight way he did when she was in trouble. "Take care of yourself." He bowed slightly to her.

"And you." Ms. Akiko returned the gesture.

"Eri."

Eri looked up at her father, into his expecting, disappointed eyes. He raised an eyebrow. So, she bowed to her teacher. "I'm sorry I bit my classmates, Ms. Akiko. I'm sorry to have troubled you."

"That's all right, Eri," her teacher comforted, smiling. "I hope we have better times ahead of us. Remember, we have our field trip coming up! Maybe we can get your daddy to help supervise, too." She eyed Shota, who stared dully at her.

"I ain't heard about that, but," Shota said, looking down at his daughter. "We'll talk about that, too. We have…_a lot _to talk about."

##

"So, this is what it's come to, then?" Shota said with a sigh, five minutes into their drive home. "You won't eat dinner, but you _will _bite other people." Eri stared at the back of his head, purposely avoiding the rearview mirror. "Guess I'll throw the Problem Child in the stew tonight, huh? That get you to eat?"

Eri gripped her hands into small fists, dropping her eyes.

"Honestly…" Shota frowned in thought. "I don't know what else to say other than we don't eat people." That much should have been obvious, even to a former experiment subject. He considered the situation, turning it over and over in his mind.

Why would his daughter bite someone?

Why would _his_ daughter bite someone?

Why would his daughter _bite _someone?

_Why_ would his daughter bite someone?

"Eri," he began, almost too low for her to hear. By the tiny noise of shifting behind him, he knew she was listening. "Why did you bite your classmates? Really? Are they honestly nice to you? You can tell me the truth. I won't get mad again, I promise."

Nothing.

"And why didn't you tell me about the field trip? Daddy's busy, but he still wants to know what's going on with you. You're more important than whatever else is going on. So—"

Eri sniffled, and he shot his attention to her through the mirror.

"Sweetheart?"

Her bottom lip was caught under her teeth, her cheeks scarlet from strain, and the more she grasped onto her emotions, the louder her watery winces became.

"Baby girl, what's wrong?"

Tears streamed down her face, and a fit of stifled sobbing overtook her.

"Oh, crap. Crap, crap, crap, _shit_—" Shota pulled over into a minor street, parking at the curb by closed-down shop. He quickly shot down the engine, got out, and moved into the backseat with her. "Hey, what's going on, huh? What'd I say?" She met his eyes once before collapsing back into her tears. He unbuckled her from the car seat and pulled her toward him, pressing her chest-to-chest with a comforting hand behind her head, hushing her. "Let it out. Take your time."

"I'm sorry, Daddy!"

"Sweetheart, I just want to know what's going on." Shota ran his hand up and down his daughter's back, petting her hair. He stared out the window, watching car after car, pedestrian and dog waltzing about their way. "That's all. You know you can tell me anything, don't you?" Hot air emitted from Eri's soaked face rendered his shirt damp. She gave no indication that she had understood or even heard him, but he decided against making her look at him. Instead, he pressed his nose to her hair so she knew he was giving all his attention to her. "I know you have a reason for why you did all that. I know you know better, yeah?"

Eri knew her father wanted her to face him, to meet eyes and connect, as always. But she disallowed herself from complying. She never did anything right, anyway. But because she was a horrible child—she _knew _she was—she said, "Yeah."

Shota noticed something…off in her eyes, her voice, that struck him through the center. His expression sagged in worry as he studied her. So, he pulled her to his chest again and rubbed her back. "It's okay. Daddy's here, and he loves you. It'll be okay."

Just because she felt horrible did not mean she had to inflict such discomfort upon her father. Of all the things he did for her, for everyone excluding himself, he deserved to at least have a seemingly peaceful state of mind. Lies saved lives, sometimes.

Shota, meanwhile, dreaded the rest of the night. Tinky. Eri was already having a breakdown, and now the fish? What perfect timing… But for now, all he could think to do is hold her.

##

He told her during dinner.

She said nothing besides, "It's okay, Daddy. I don't think Tinky liked being in a small room, anyway. It's better that he's gone."

Shota stared at her, intently, unwavering when she looked down in her lap. He put his chopsticks down. "What do you mean by that?" Eri shrugged. "Eri, look at me, please." She did so. "What's going on?"

"Nothing."

"Are you…" Shota searched the room for the right word. "I don't know. Are you okay? Your fish…?" She blinked simply. "You can be mad at me, y'know. Just 'cause I'm your dad doesn't mean I'm always right."

"Tinky's probably happier now. He couldn't go to the park or run around with Sushi. Heaven's probably more fun for him." Eri looked down again, choosing not to notice the subtle horror in her father's eyes. Quiet. "May I be excused, Daddy?"

"Uh…" Shota snapped out of his hectic thoughts. "Yeah… Yes."

Eri slid from her seat, mumbling, "Thank you."

Seeing her reaction, a reaction too accepting, too hopeless for a child her age, Shota's core dissolved. His restraint diminished as soon as Eri disappeared to his room, where she buried her face in his pillow, squeezing her stuffed tiger. He remained in the kitchen, head in his hands, staring at the polished wood flooring. It was not until a splotch appeared on the flat of his foot that he realized he was crying.

_Crying_. Over a goddamn fish.

He let his hands fall to his sides and stared up at the ceiling. This was counterproductive. He needed to talk to his child about her misbehavior. Eri had cried it all out in the car before. Now, it was time to talk. "Eri!" Shota called to the open house, pushing himself from the wall. "Can you come back down here, please? We need to have a talk." Without a response, Shota called again, "El-_Belle_! This is important."

He waited for tiny footsteps and a tiny voice, but heard neither. Sighing while his expression drooped in vexation, he crossed his arms. Usually, Eri would come immediately, even a single wide eye by the edge of a wall, even when in trouble. She always came running.

"One." _Be patient_, he told himself. "_Two_, young lady." He repeated that phrase in his mind over and over again until it fell into a mix of white noise. When he looked up at the top of the stairs into the hallway, he met Eri's eyes from around the wall. "Come down here, please."

"Am I in trouble?" Eri asked at the lowest volume possible, not moving from her spot.

"A tad," Shota replied, honestly. "But we're only going to talk. Just talk."

Eri stared at him.

"Please don't make me repeat myself. Come along, now." Eri came gingerly down the stairs, watching her father the entire time. When her feet met the wood panels of the foyer, a good fifteen feet from Shota, she looked down at the pink and yellow paint on her toenails. "Thank you. Now, how about we— _Eri_!" Eri darted from the area, taking a right toward the kitchen and washing room, screaming to the high heaven. Higher in pitch when she realized her father had taken off after her. He caught her by the downstairs bathroom, in the hallway, by the wrist. Eri screamed in surprise. "I am _not_ dealing with this again. Sit"—he plopped her on her butt on the wood panel floor—"_down_."

"I said I was sorry!" Eri protested when her father let out a heavy sigh, raking his hair from his face to calm his irritation. "You heard me say it!"

"I did hear you. But we're not talking about whether or not I heard you say you were sorry," Shota explained, evenly and firmly, finally seating himself on the floor in front of her. Blocking the only exit. "I know you have a reason—"

"No, I don't!" Eri's tiny eyebrows drew up as her cheeks flashed pink. Water filled her eyes, but refused to fall yet. "I _don't_, Daddy!"

"_Speak_ to me, please." Shota stoned, though he could feel her tension and sorrow and anger. It physically unsettled him. But he was a disciplined man. He simply blinked. "Daddy doesn't like yelling."

Eri shook her head. "I don't _care_!"

"_Eri_." Shota gently took her hand in his, locking eyes with her in a way to halted and calmed her. His eyebrows rose as he leveled a gaze on her. "Enough. I want you to tell me something straight, yeah?" Eri felt her chin wobbling—why didn't he get it? "Are your classmates nice to you?"

Eri bit his wrist. Hard.

"_Hello_?! What're you—" His phone rang, averting both their attention. "What the…?" Shota said, reading the private number on the screen. Taking advantage of the distraction, Eri crawled over his leg to the other side of the hall and scurried upstairs, tripping and using all fours along the way. He called to the rest of the complex, "Go to your room! We're not done talking!" He dragged his thumb across the screen. "Hello?"

"Hello, am I speaking with a Mr. Shota Aizawa?" A firm, non-negotiable female voice.

Shota stood up, raking his bangs from his face. "Uh… Uh-huh…" He glanced at his wrist, at the tiny indentations of baby teeth, bits of saliva pooled in the dips. The edges were starting to turn red already. Some purple. "Sorry, can this wait? I'm kinda in the middle—"

"I'm Dr. Sora Kubobara from West Musutafu Medical Center, calling in regard to your daughter, Ms. Eri Aizawa. Due to your recent adoption, I have been assigned to oversee the development of you and your daughter's relationship and day-to-day process. Are you—"

"I'm sorry, who are you?" he asked, scowling. He had other, more pressing things on his mind than some overseer or whatever. It all flew over his head. "And what does my daughter have to do with you?"

"Mr. Aizawa, please," the voice said. "My name is Dr. Kubobara from West Musutafu Medical Center, Pediatrics."

"Okay…?" He steeled over. "Wait. Is there something wrong with Eri's blood work? Did I forget a vaccination? Did Dr. Kimura find something off during her physical?"

"I assure you, Eraserhead," the voice spoke calmly. "Your daughter is in perfect physical health."

"You said physical." Shota took another look at his assaulted wrist. What the hell was going on with his baby girl? What could he do? What could _he_ do? If one of those other kindergarten brats hurt _his_ child, caused her to act out like this… He frowned. "So?"

"I'm the psychologist and social worker assigned to Eri by the state."

Shota froze over. "Social worker…?"


	12. Chapter 12 - Urgency

**Chapter 12 Urgency**

"So, basically the gist of what you're saying is: my occupations screw me over in terms of parenting." Shota sighed, crossing his arms. "And you think my employment as a pro-hero, in particular, is extra weight on my chances of giving Eri a stable childhood. That right?"

"Don't take it personally, Eraserhead," Dr. Kubobara said, adjusting her thin frames.

Shota shrugged. "You're judging my parenting based off of group statistics rather than considering the case-by-case, so I'll take it _very _personally."

Dr. Kubobara listened to him with a patience, head slightly tilted to the side with her eyebrows drawn up. "Oftentimes, pro-heroes do not make for competent parents. Single ones, more so." She sat back and straightened her posture. "Unfortunately for you, being a teacher _and _pro-hero, that risk is higher."

"Right. I'll make sure to take note of this cookie-cutter mentality everyone's so strung up about."

"Please do not take offense."

"I'll take _plenty_ of offense."

"—I understand you are upset."

"A tad."

"But with your hectic schedule, you can't realistically believe Eri will be benefited as much as possible under your care."

"I'm doing my best. Ease up." Shota stared at her in a brief, tense silence. Glaciers of parental dedication and overall offense stilled the saturations of brown in his eyes. "It's not like you live with us. Your _observations_ don't cover the entirety of what goes on around."

"I don't have to," Dr. Kubobara said. As she spoke, Shota looked down at his Converse, listening. "I just have to observe what I can while you're here, or I'm there, and try to get into you and your daughter's thoughts and relationship together. And I have to observe you and how you lead your day with Eri and while at work."

He shook his head, brows knitting together. "So, basically _everyone_ has to know I have to have a babysitter, then."

"Don't think of it as that. This is standard procedure to ensure you and Eri are a good match. As the state would approve."

Shota's glare slid directly to her, unflinching. Despite his tone, he was more than willing to improve his parenting. It almost seemed second-nature at times, but he was still new to it. Never was one for a big head. "So now what? Just that, you're gonna tail me and my kid for how long?"

"A few months." They stared at each other in that silence. "The case is always different with you heroes. We have to make sure you're providing a fulfilling life for your child."

"I should think so. We go about our life without much trouble."

"Eri's drawings say otherwise."

Shota paled, clenching his jaw with an eerily calm expression otherwise. "Sorry?"

Dr. Kubobara raised her eyebrow, then reached into her file organizer. "She…has repeatedly drawn some disturbing things. Some at school, some here during our meetings, and some even at home. Did you know this?" She handed Shota a handful of crayoned-up papers—sketches of swirls and mashed-up colors.

"I just assumed these were scribbles. Like kids normally do." Shota, seeing the drawings of his daughter, now second-guessing himself tenfold, swallowed a thick lump in his throat. Even Eri's drawing of their home and their family rose only anxious dread in his gut. He turned over one drawing to see a sketch of their family at home—a window into their life. Shota's stick-figure had his nose smashed into his office's desk, mounds of paperwork, fast asleep in a pile of papers labeled with dollar signs. Eri's little stick-figure, dressed in pajamas, peeked in through the slit of the door, crying, watching her father suffer with no means to an end. Over Shota's head was a red _LIE_. And Eri's: _BAD._

The drawing quivered in Shota's grasp, nearly seared by his unyielding stare. "Oh, my God." He rubbed his temple, as if massaging his eyebrow would make the drawing of his failure less harsh.

"As subtle as you are, Eraserhead, she's _very _observant. But I'm sure you already knew that."

"Yeah," Shota agreed. In his head, though, he chastised: _I knew, and yet I never really did._ He sighed. "What has Eri told you? Is she okay? Really?" He glanced up at the doctor with an expression plagued with guilt. "Please. Give me an example of something she's mentioned. I need to know."

Dr. Kubobara leaned back in her chair, twirling the neon blue hair that fell in ringlets. "From what she's told me, you tend to become agitated when the topic of money comes up. For example. And you work a lot, both during the day and while at home to the point of exhaustion."

"I'm fine. Thank you."

"She also said that your version of 'I'm fine' usually means that you're struggling, yet unwilling to ask for help." Shota's eyes slit, but he listened. He listened hard and patiently. "See the problem? She's worried about you, and it's probable that she's processing your I'm-fine mentality as a rejection of her emotions towards you. Hence the drawings and the labels over your head and hers. Chances are, in the future, she'll continue to mimic your behavior."

Shota rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"It's all right to be upset. As much as I am a server of children, I am also an open ear to new parents."

"No, it's fine. I'm fine," Shota said, sitting upright. Then, he chuckled cynically to himself. "I did it again, didn't I?" Dr. Kubobara shrugged, simply. _And I yelled at her for drawing on the walls yesterday._ Maybe she was trying to relay some message in the form of scribbles and circles. Yet, he could only scold her for it.He sighed, watching his daughter slam her plush horse toys into each other in the next room. "Okay. I'll make sure we talk about that."

Dr. Kubobara removed her glasses. "Tell me about discipline. In the event Eri disobeys you or breaks a house rule, how do you address it?"

Shota, already knowing where this was going, stifled the urge to roll his eyes. "We talk about it."

"Explain, please."

Disliking the demeaning tone of her voice, he slowly closed and opened his eyes as he spoke. "I remind her of the rule or what I said, ask her why she did what she did, and we…just talk it out until we reach a solution. I do send her to her room, regardless, 'cause she already knows all the rules."

Dr. Kubobara scribbled notes. "And if it's a major rule or if she puts herself in danger, even if you'd already told her no?"

"Then she's grounded for the rest of the day. Or until the next, depending on what it was. No TV or books—she likes to read, I just found that out. A few extra chores around the house."

"Physical consequences?"

"I've only spanked her once."

"Mm," Dr. Kubobara acknowledged, scribbling down a range of notes. Shota cocked an eyebrow. "I see. And how did she handle that?"

"Well, it wasn't exactly tea in the park. But she's fine from what I can see and from what she's told me. Back to normal."

"Are you sure?"

"I know my child."

"I see."

"Are you trying to intimidate me?"

"Not at all."

"Then, what?"

"I only wish to express to you that you must be careful when it comes to discipline with a child like Eri. She may not be respondent to…your country methods."

"You make it sound as if I beat her." Shota, usually not one to nitpick, could almost hear her say 'country hick.' Mainlanders always had their own opinions of Shikoku natives. Shikoku's people always spat insults at Honshu natives over brandy, from dawn to dawn. That was just how life went. But he remained calm, tried not to feel shame for his contrasting accent. He left that shit in high school. He was an adult now. "Is that your deduction, based off the fact that I grew up in Shikoku?"

"Is that you're assumption?"

"Passive-aggressively judging me 'cause I'm a pro and a Shikoku bumpkin doesn't seem logical for a certified social worker, or psychologist, or whatever you are." Shota squinted. He could be equally judgmental, but what good would that do? "I'd appreciate an informative talk about my baby girl, rather than a prejudice standoff that'll end, either way, in my demise. If you don't mind."

She straightened her glasses, pretending not to hear that. "She's been through some degree of horror in her past life, is what I'm saying."

"I understand that. I was there when she was retrieved," Shota said, simply. He subconsciously thumbed the tiny bruise where Eri had bitten him. "I'm extra careful in everything I do in terms of parenting her. I'm perfectly prepared to adapt however she needs me to."

Eri, hearing none of this, glanced over at her father and waved from the other room. She watched _Blue's Clues_ from her father's tablet with her horse toys.

Shota waved back with a short smile, and watched her continue on her horse plush civil war. "And I love her enough to provide structure where she needs. It's not enjoyable, but I trust our relationship to know she'll be fine when all's said and done."

"You sure this is not doing more damage than anything?"

"I'm sure."

"Tell me about your childhood."

"Oh, boy…"

"Your relationship with your parents, too."

"_Oh_, boy."

"You're hesitant."

"I'd rather get a prostate exam."

"Please. I'm not asking for details, just a brief overview."

"For what, for you to pick apart whatever and find something _you_ think is odd about how I'm raising my daughter? No, thanks."

"Tell me, please," Dr. Kubobara repeated, "about your relationship with your parents. What kind of environment welcomed you home every day?"

Shota nearly scoffed at the word 'welcome.' But he preferred not to emote any effect of his childhood, since _now_, he had to say it. This was for Eri—to hell with his pride. He drew a steady breath. "I grew up in a house where you get beat for something less than anything Eri's done. I know the difference between discipline and punishment. Don't play this game with me."

Dr. Kubobara put her hands up. "You're sharp."

"I know."

"I only want the best for Eri."

"And I don't? I'm her father."

"—And you, as well." Shota snapped his mouth shut, unsure how to respond, if at all. "I can see that look in your eyes."

Shota shook his head. "I'm just thinking."

"I know you're giving Eri your full commitment, and I'm not here to say otherwise." Dr. Kubobara leaned forward, lacing her fingers on her knee, her notepad pressed against her chest. "I'm here to show you reality. If your reality and mine do not line up, and it hinders Eri's development…"

She did not have to say it—Shota had already deduced her words. _Then Eri will be taken from you_. That single statement intended for worse-case-scenarios, for parents like his mother before rehab and Tsubasa, for people like Overhaul, rattled his soul before it had finished. Him, the now-responsible, nearly five-year sober, traceless pro-hero and patient Ivy League high school teacher…who half-ass attended therapy, popped anti-whatever pills, drank late at night, and had the temper that ranged from rabid wolf to ice rain. He sighed, but dared not move, or show any further signs of his growling self-criticism. _I…thought we were doing good_, he thought, clenching his jaw.

"Like I said, _if_," Dr. Kubobara comforted, leaning forward on her knees, notepad pressed to her conservative chest. Shota shot a hurried glance up to her, blushing immediately. He swore he had said that in his head. "That _if_ is the turning point. If there is an if, I have to take action." She watched Shota for a moment, deciphering if any words of defense or desperation would emerge his throat. But he just stared back at her. "But I do believe you when you say you love and care for Eri, and her you." He nodded. A slow smile rose to her lips. "Scared yet, Mr. Aizawa?"

Shota grimaced, and, as habit would have it, lifted one of his eyebrows back. "No." The doctor chuckled, easing into the couch. "But I'll give you this: you know just what to say to make me pause."

Dr. Kubobara stood, sliding her notes under a manila folder, tossing an orange, thick braid falling over her shoulder. "Well, on that note, that'll be all today." Shota stood, wiping his sweating hands on his pants. She bridged her hands together on the desk, a calm smile frozen on her face. "I'll be in touch. Expect a home visit within the next month or so." She offered her hand.

"Yeah," Shota said, shaking her hand. "Thanks."

##

Eri could not tell what her father was thinking, or why he seemed…_off_ after they left the huge building. But as she laid on the carpet at home, listening to the bounce of her father's piano playing. The keys seemed to leap about his dancing fingers, though, as usual, his grim expression did not meet the carefree nature of the sound. By the deepness of his eyes, though, she knew that music resonated within him; and sometimes, it nearly burst out of him. He said that it came from where he had grown up—there and some small parts in the main city, too. Ragtime, she remembered him calling it.

"Eri," Shota said. Eri hopped a bit in surprise and turned to him, eyes wide and wanting. Her father opened his mouth to go on, but he closed it soon after. After a considering moment, he sighed and held an arm out to her while he sat on the floor, cross-legged. "C'mere. We need a good talk."

She gathered near him, magnet-like. His arm wrapped her close.

"So…um…" He frowned at the wall. Eri tilted her head, letting her hair fall into her lap. He looked down at her. "I wanted…to talk about…some of your drawings. And the whole thing at school a few days ago."

Eri shrunk, chin pressed to her chest while her eyes stayed planted on her father. "You said we were done talking about it."

"Daddy's just worried, okay?" Shota inspected a mosquito bite scar on his arm. "Is there anything you want to tell me? About anything?"

Eri contemplated telling him _everything_—top to bottom. But the more she tried to will her words out, the heavier of a burden she realized she would be. She could feel it weighing tons of pounds on her stomach, and it made her head spin. "I…" Shota waited patiently. "I just want…you to sleep more."

Shota recalled the words the drawing Dr. Kubobara had shown him. Lies, Bad; Lies, Bad; Lies, Bad. _As subtle as you are…Eri is _very_ observant_. They slapped him around and shot into his heart. "You want me to sleep more?"

"Yeah. In bed."

"What—…" He frowned. Too confrontational. "Why…" Too interrogative. "You want me to sleep in bed?" Eri nodded after a moment of thinking, picking at her palm. Though he knew she knew, he asked with added lightness to his tone, "Where else do I sleep, baby?"

She shrunk into her shoulder. If she told him, he might be unhappy that she had been out of bed in the first place. If she told him, he would know that she had peeked into his office multiple times without permission. He would only worry that _she_ was the one failing to get much sleep. "I don't know…" It was nearly a beg. "On the couch, I think."

"You think me napping means I don't sleep at bedtime?" She nodded again. Shota, though the drawing exposed his office, accepted it. Being a literature teacher, he knew too that even a child's crayon artwork could have a universe of interpretations. Only the creator knew the truth, or the lack, of a work. "Well, Eri…" He stared straight ahead when Eri broke eye contact. "I think you're right on the money there. You got good eyes." She lifted a longing gaze to the side of his face. "I have to do a lot of my school work at night, and my hero work. And when it's not that, sometimes I have trouble getting tired at night. Y'know?"

She did not. She never knew that people could be awake when the sky was asleep. "But you're tired when it's morning?"

Shota gave a tragic nod and chuckle. "Yeah. That's right."

"You can't do your work before it's bedtime?"

"'Course not." He smoothed her hair when he looked at her. She clung to his shirt. "I have to make sure your face is fed. Then, bath- and bedtime. I always want to make sure you're good before anything else."

"But…"

"Doesn't mean you're in the way or anything." He combed his fingers through her hair, gentle as a stroke of a breeze within the wintry strands. "You're my baby girl. It's my job to give you everything I can to make you happy, and I'm happy to do it."

Eri watched him.

He rose a brow. "I know that look by now, Piglet. Don't even try to pretend I didn't just read your mind." Eri ran her thumb over the smooth marble eye of her tiger toy. "Stay here for a minute." Shota got to his feet, knees and ankles cracking, muttering, "Ow, Jesus Christ," as he continued on his way upstairs. He stepped over Sushi and Dude, who were wrestling and yowling in the hallway.

Eri picked up her toy and held him to her chest. "What should I do, Shaka?" she asked her toy, waiting. "I can't tell him. But I know lies are bad." She gasped when her father came back down the stairs.

He sat in front of her, plopping two shirts on the wood between them. Both oversized and plaid—one red-base, but faded in an ombre from top to bottom; the other a split design of a black-base left and back side, a yellow-base right side and sleeve, and a beige-base left sleeve. The collar and a unifying patch on the back of the latter where of a faded jean shirt. Eri blinked rapidly at them, trying to understand. Shota picked up the red ombre shirt. "This was the first shirt like this my mother bought me. Sixth grade."

When Eri reached for it, he held it out to her. It was considerably big, even compared to his stature. But it was almost too soft to be a shirt. She pressed her face to the pink-like fade at the bottom.

"Years of wear-and-tear. And washing." Shota let go, letting her hold it. "That thing's been through school dances and theatre performances, and homelessness."

"What's homelessness?" Eri asked in a small voice from the cotton.

Shota sighed. The added forlorn to his brown eyes made her forget about the softness of the shirt. "It's when…you don't have a home." Tears filled Eri's eyes, and Shota immediately opened his arms to her. She crawled into them, bringing the red plaid.

As much as she could not imagine a life like that, she…could. Why? Tucking into his body, she pressed the collar to her nose.

Her father swallowed, pulling some hair behind her ear. "Daddy was eighteen. Life was hard, and I wasn't getting along with my mom or my brother, or…" Tsubasa. "So, I packed a backpack and left home in the middle of the night. Got on a bus and made it here in Musutafu in a single day. I even stole money from my parents to do it."

"You did?" Eri asked, shocked. _Her_ daddy, stealing money? Stealing _anything_?

He nodded, simply. "Yep, I did. But the thing about money is it's earned slow, but gone too soon." He laughed a little, not that Eri got the joke. Then, he frowned at the shirt, locking his fingers to secure Eri against him. "But anyway, life was hard without a home, or family. I didn't even talk to your Uncle Mic, or Nana and Poppi. None of them, for almost a year and a half. Daddy was still a hero, then, but nowhere close to a good one. At some point, I got whatever cash I could by sneaking around, stealing from others, lying, and throwing tantrums whenever someone tried to help. But I was too…stubborn to realize that I could've just asked for help instead of running away in the first place."

"Oh. All that from a shirt?" Eri asked, interested.

Shota nodded. "This one looks like this because…" He picked up the multi-plaid shirt. "The four shirts that made this thing got jacked up from four of the worst fights I got into as a kid. Middle to high school." Eri reached out and touched the shirt, shyly. "I got hurt bad each time. "And I kept what I could from these shirts and made this big shirt."

"But why did you keep it? It doesn't match."

"Because your grandma worked hard to get each of those four shirts." Shota smiled a little in memory, running his hand over each of the mismatching sections. "She knows how much your daddy likes plaid. But it took a lot of hard work. So, when my bad behavior caused them to get messed up, I felt like I was really just hurting my mama _by _hurting myself."

"But how?"

"By not talking to her, telling her what was up with whatever problem I was having at the time." Shota chuckled. "Back then, Daddy thought he was way smarter than his mama. But it was really just a bad attitude."

Eri bit back a smile at the same time her father had, and then drew her tiny eyebrows up when his expression downcast.

"I can't stand hurting my family like I used to _because_ I made myself grow up," Shota confessed. "One day, you'll meet your grandma. But she'll love you just as much, if not more, than she does me. And it's that love that makes us better people."

"I can't wait to meet her," Eri said because it was true and because it would set aside any suspicions of her her father might have developed.

Shota nodded. He thought for a moment. "But I also keep this to remind myself to try to be better. It's how I saw fit to check myself to be good. And I still wear 'em to this day. They're special."

"You're good now."

Shota smiled, loving her even more for that small statement. "Thank you, baby. But I wasn't always, and…it might've been because of how alone I always felt. Before you, of course."

Eri smiled a little.

"But it didn't have to be that way."

Eri stared at him, blankly enough that it almost made him laugh. The empty gaze of every teacher's nightmare.

"My point is," Shota paused, considering the unspoken truth of his words, "If I had talked about my problems with someone, maybe I wouldn't've been in so many bad situations. By myself. I wouldn't have all these scars." He held up the patchwork plaid again. "I definitely wouldn't've ruined so many shirts. There're only so many shirts in the—" He looked away, dropping the shirt and slouching. "Okay, well, that's not completely true…"

Eri giggled.

He sighed, frowning in irritated, self-induced confusion. "Well… y'know what I mean."

"I think I do, Daddy." Shota nodded at her, encouragement in his long gaze. She scrunched her eyebrows down to formulate the words. "Don't get into trouble. And listen to adults…?"

"And if you're having trouble?"

"Talk to you," Eri said in a weighted voice. "Talk about the trouble with you because you're my daddy…?"

_Good enough for now_, Shota concluded. "Yeah. Yeah. And because of that, I want to know what's going on with you. Good or bad. It doesn't matter. I just want to know, so you don't end up doing some of the dumb things Daddy did growing up. Capisce?"

"Okay, Daddy."

"I promise I'll listen. You won't get in trouble. I won't get mad," Shota explained, evenly. Though, he knew when the time came, that would be the _real_ test. He trusted his patience and his calm demeanor, but his Eri was always a different case. "I just want to know. All about you. We can make it a routine, maybe. During dinner or something, yeah?"

Eri nodded. "What's for dinner?"

"Huh," Shota thought. "I actually didn't put a plan together. What'cha craving?"

Eri let her mind roam from soups to curry to grilled meat. All came to an end, though, when she caught sight of the circular bruise on her father's arm. Where she bit him days ago. "Ramen."

"We had ramen the other day," Shota said, tame laughter bubbling in his eyes. "You want that again?" When she did not reply, he talked to himself, "I _could _use the pressure cooker for the broth, sprouts, and shoots, I suppose. I just have to make some eggs, and—"

"I wanna go out," Eri pleaded. "So you don't have to cook in a hurry."

"You sure? It's really not a big deal."

"Uh-huh. And…" She shook her head, balling her fists with the multi-plaid's material.

Shota dipped his chin at her. "Sweetheart, we just talked about this."

"Can…we go for a drive, too? With the water?"

Shota thought about his mounds of essays and in-class writing assignments he had to read and grade—both class 1-A and -B. The bills he had to pay. The emails he had to shoot out to parents, teachers, Principal Nezu, and other heroes. He _should _call his grandparents to check if Jong had. He had to move money around to pay for Jong's most recent screw-up. And he _should _put more hours into the Hero Network to up his pay to make up for said screw-up. But, because of the pleading look in Eri's eyes, because of how she had listened to his stories and lessons with an open ear and heart, and because of how much he loved her, he simply smiled. "Sure. Why not?" His heart etched in protest at his commitment to lying to his daughter about getting more sleep at night.

But he had to make her smile.


	13. Chapter 13 - World Quake

**Chapter 13 World Quake**

Shota lay on the couch in the living room of the A.B.C., a clothed ice pack over his eyes, a blanket over his head, and his feet hanging off the cushion. The headache came without warning this time—an ocular migraine, as Recovery Girl had diagnosed years ago when they had started. Unrelated to his Quirk, but an interaction with his lupus was probable. One moment he was up and around the house, cleaning, cooking, organizing, the next he was on the couch with Eri, reading while she played, and now, he dry-throated Excedrin and traded his reading glasses for a freezer pack.

Beneath the pack, his eyes throbbed against a dull, yet stabbing pain that blurred his vision, harshened the sunlight in the windows, churned his stomach, and blared silence into his ears. Once he started squinting, Eri turned the TV's volume down by half and scooted closer to the speakers. She knew her daddy's health could turn for the worst at any time, and she knew that a quieter environment helped him recover faster.

Eri played soundlessly on the floor beside him, her attention divided between her toys, her motionless father, and Spongebob shrieking bloody murder over Gary's absence. She wondered if Gary would ever find his way back home. Or if Spongebob would give up the search and continue with his life. Maybe Spongebob would be happier without Gary. She resumed playing with her stuffed tiger and shark. She glanced at her father one last time, at his book on the floor by his hand that he had abandoned, at her own book about an elephant named Babar that she had fetched to mimic Shota, and then went back to playing.

"I'll be fine to take you to your friend's party," Shota grumbled from under the blanket. "Daddy just has to sleep for a little bit."

"Okay, Daddy," Eri said, making her shark eat her tiger. "Do you want some water?"

"No, baby. I'm okay. Thank you."

Eri considered this for a minute or two, and opted to fetch him water from the kitchen. She had to jump to get a cup from the dishrack and stand on her toes to press the cold-water button on the dispenser. Her father always said that drinking water was important to being healthy. She ran back to the living room, and when she sat in front of Shota's blanket-swallowed body, she realized that she had spilled half of the water. She gasped at the puddles on the floor, a trail of her carelessness.

At her gasp, Shota immediately sat up. By the way he glanced around, she could barely tell he had a migraine. He looked down at her with a textbook worried parent look on his face. "Sweetheart? What's wrong?" He saw the blue plastic cup in her hands—her wet little hands—and the doe-like stare she sported. Instantly, he relaxed. "You scared me. I thought… Never mind."

Eri thrusted the cup at him, spilling a little water on his pants. "Here, Daddy. You didn't drink enough."

Shota smiled a bit. Usually, he was the one getting water, stalking around to prepare this and serve that. He was the one sitting awake all night to combat fevers and the one dressing wounds, usually while scolding—his students trembling never fazed him much, but Eri's gaping stare always stole his words away, and he would just sigh and end it there. But now, Eri had gotten him water. All on her own accord. He could cry from this tiny display of care. "I think you're right," he said, taking the cup and kissing Eri's nose. She giggled. "Thank you for taking care of me."

"Uh-huh!" Eri chirped. She picked up her tiger and shark again, making them clash snouts and bellies in the air as Shota downed the water. She gave a little scowl when her tiger pawed her shark too hard and when her shark slapped her tiger with its tailfin. She wondered if the real animals out battle like they did in her head.

"Baby girl." She turned back to her father. "How long did I sleep for?"

Eri bit back a smile. "Five minutes."

"Thank God." Shota sighed, flopping back down on the couch.

Eri waited for her father's breathing to fall into a deep pattern before she carefully crawled onto the couch with him. She peeked at him under the blanket, how gentle he looked, how he was already drooling, and pushed his bangs from his face. She scooted to get her shark, hugged it to her, and snuggled against her father's chest. With both hands, she pulled Shota's limp arm to cover herself with. She closed her eyes.

Just as she fell asleep, Shota, already knowing, brought his other arm over to cradle her. In her sleep, Eri smiled.

##

The party was just as boring and irrational as Shota had suspected. For one, there was no booze. Another, he had fake conversations and rigid attempts at smiles to satisfy the other parents. He preferred to sit in the corner, but he knew Eri would only mimic his antisocial tendencies, twisting them into her old habits. So, there he stood, with a labored-as-hell, half-committed smile, staring at this newly-divorced dude named…

_Shit_, Shota thought, drawing his eyebrows down while still keeping up the (not-so-) polite smile. _What's this guy's name again? Uh… Crap. I swear, I had it this time. _He, still staring and smiling at the man before him, who was talking nonstop, sipped the lemon Kool-Aid that Mrs. Kobayashi had given all the adults, who got an extra two scoops of the powder, cranberry juice, and a quarter of Sprite. _This stuff tastes like absolute ass. Wait, where's Piglet?_ Shota glanced around What's-His-Face and then around quickly until he saw Eri fidgeting with her skirt in the sandbox with two other kids. She gave him a worried look. So, he nodded with feigned certainty. He slowly turned back to the other man. _Shit. She's watching me now. Now, I _have _to say something back. What're we talking about again?_ He squinted, forcing down the Kool-Aid virgin cocktail to be polite.

He swore he heard one of the kids announce to Eri, "Why does your dad look like he has to go Number Three?"

Shota nearly spat out his drink, covering his nose and mouth with a hand as Eri questioned what Number Three was. "Whoa! You good, there?" What's-His-Face asked, patting Shota's back. "Did I say something funny?"

Safely swallowing the drink, fighting back laughter—mentally scolding himself for laughing at something as immature as Number Three—Shota coughed once to clear up the liquid in his throat. He sniffled. "Uh. Yeah."

What's-His-Face pulled a disgusted look. "My split toenail is funny to you?"

Shota stared at him. "I…have a morbid sense of humor…?" A half-truth.

"Huh. Well, cheers to that. Isn't that what you Shikoku folks say: _Cheers_."

Shota stifled an eye roll, both at the 'you Shikoku folks' and at the use of the word 'folks' in the first place. "I'm from Longdon in Tokushima. We just say Shikoku 'cause our town was founded by those guys way back when." He could tell he lost the other parent. His entire stature slouched and his eyes dimmed at the short attention span of What's-His-Face. "Yes. We say 'cheers' from time to time."

"—Like the English?"

"Our English language resources come from England, as opposed to the U.S., like the mainland." He chided himself again: _Why'd you say all that? Don't encourage this sort of talk_. But the other side of him rationalized: _Just give him what he wants and he'll leave you alone._ By the pursed lips and lingering stare, Shota already knew he was right to assume What's-His-Face was using him and his accent as a source of entertainment. That always happened the moment Honshu folk—_people_—heard him talk. He cleared his throat and looked at the yard full of tiny humans. "Which one's yours?"

What's-His-Face gestured to the left. "The one jumping in the pool. Orange trunks." Shota glanced at the little boy belly-flopping into the chlorine-rich water, screaming to the high heavens prior to the splash. He nodded. "That's my Tashiro. He's seven, come Monday."

"Nice kid," Shota said, evenly. His mind gave a different observation—that kid spat Coke at his jeans almost ten minutes into the party and declared him to be a Trash Buttface soon after. Eri had tears in her eyes and murmured to her father that it was not true what Tashiro said, tiny fists trembling.

"And yours?" What's-His-Face asked, chugging his third cup of Kool-Aid disaster.

Shota nodded to the right. "The one in the sandbox. Yellow skirt. Name's Eri." Sharp as usual, Eri jerked her head from her slumped sandcastle and stared at her father. Shota smiled.

What's-His-Face aw-ed. "She's adorable."

"Thank you."

"How'd you get her hair into those buns? With the braid looped around?" The other father laughed to himself. "I have twin girls. Newborns. Might as well start training. So, how'd you do it?"

Shota winced, looking at a grass stain on the white toe of his Converse. "Painfully, I'd say."

"She has your nose." What's-His-Face looked between Shota and Eri, smiling brightly. "And your cheekbones."

Shota cocked an eyebrow. "O-oh." He glanced between the man and Eri. "Funny. She's actually adopt—"

An ear-splitting scream erupted over the buzz of the music on the outdoor stereo. On high alert, all the parents on the patio jerked their heads around, searching for their kids. On sight, having known the sound the moment it omitted, Shota hurried to his daughter. Eri stood away from another little boy, whose mother was patting grass strings from his clothes. He

"He touched my horn…" Eri muttered, though none heard her.

"You _pushed _me!" screamed Yaeko. His response was Eri throwing a plastic sand pail at his stomach.

"_Eri_." Her father's reprimanding tone sliced through the astonished silence. She knew by that tone and the look on the other child's face, and his mother's, that she was in for it once they got home. Two strong hands slipped under her arms and pulled her back to her father's legs. Shota's scowl tightened when she looked up. "You know better than to push other people."

Eri's tiny eyebrows scrunched. "But you said that if someone touches—"

Shota's grimace tightened while his eyes enlarged, and he hissed in a low tone, "_Eri_. We. do _not_. push." His frown lessened when he met eyes with Mrs. Kobayashi and her son. "I'm _so _sorry. She usually doesn't do stuff like that."

"It's…okay." Mrs. Kobayashi said, pushing her son into the house to dress a knee scrape.

Before Eri knew it, her father was strapping her into the car seat. His entire face was swelling in humiliation, but by the way he closed the door to get to the driver's side, Eri knew he was mad. His Chevelle screeched in panic when he pulled a fast U-turn out of the neighborhood.

When they got home, Shota dragged her to the A.B.C., snapping at his kids not to come up there until later. Once home, he let go of Eri's hand and knelt down in front of her, right there in the foyer. "Okay. Talk."

Eri tucked her arms to her sides, looking down, biting her bottom lip. Her white shoes became blurred into the dark wood of the floor. "I don't wanna—"

"_Too_. Bad." Shota stared at her with an expression beyond livid. It was the hardest scowl she had seen yet—the way his brows were angled nearly touching his nose, how _large _his eyes actually were when fully opened. Frankly, she was a tad scared. "What did I say about talking to me?"

"You want me to."

"And I won't get mad if you _explain_ to me why you hit that other kid. Twice."

"You're mad right now…"

"I'm mad 'cause you won't tell me what's going on. I'm _frustrated_ as heck, Eri. I want to know _why_ you are throwing things and pushing people, and _biting me_ and your classmates! You _know _better!" Shota took a deep breath, holding his hands together to his forehead as if praying. In a lower, still-dangerous voice, he said, "Tell me why."

"But you won't understand!" Eri exclaimed, making him look back at her.

"Think of it this way: unless you explain why you did all those things, I'm gonna assume you need your butt whooped." Shota noticed how his daughter's gave him a desperate look. The look of a child with reasons unsaid. Stubbornly unsaid. "But I'd like to think I know you better than to assume that of you. I _know_ my daughter. I know you don't just _do_ things."

Eri blinked hard as more tears filled her eyes. "I… do have reasons, Daddy. But… I'm not sure if I can tell you yet. I don't want to."

Shota growled to himself, trying and failing to calm himself. "_Why_? Huh?" he snapped. Eri flinched, eyes spilling over. "Eri, it's been a _hectic_ month. Do you understand that?"

"Uh-huh."

"So, why?" The words were out before he could stop them. "Why can't you just…_behave_ like I know you can?"

"I don't know." The tears fell.

Shota's glare only got sharper and sharper. "Christ, Eri. You're killing me."

Eri winced hard. There it was. The truth. She was killing her daddy, and he finally admitted it. Maybe he had known all along that she was a waste of time. But he tried, and it only hurt him. "I'm…"

He gave a defeated sigh, standing up. "Look, just go to your room." Eri watched him, backing up a little. He rubbed his eyes, terribly exhausted, angry beyond comprehension, completely _done_. She wished to say something more, anything to give him ease. But she flinched and ran to her room when he warned, "One, _two_…"

In truth, he disliked using the counting method whenever he was too angry with his daughter. That was his mother's old way of 'parenting'—which usually meant getting whacked on the count of two for the sole reason that she was mad. She once pulled that method on him when he had asked what was for dinner.

But now, it slipped out, and it was all that came to mind. And he hated himself for it.

After a bit, he considered going into Eri's room to talk to her. Calmly. But he paused at the closed door. Since when did their talks merit much else than a tantrum and argument, only to repeat the act later? Eri would behave however she wanted at the end of the day. Could he even reach her?

He went instead to his office until it came time for dinner. Take-out. Then a quick bath, a dull story, and lights out. He hated letting Eri go to bed thinking she was in trouble or that he was mad at her. But… he could barely level his voice around her during bathtime. Around nine, he dialed his mother's number, swallowed his pride, and let the line ring. Yoko picked up after three _brrs_. "Hey, pup. I'm with your grandparents. We were just talking about you."

Shota deadpanned, "Oh. Really?"

"Mm-hm." He could hear Sheeran and Yoona shouting greetings in the background. "And I've been meaning to ask you when you're done avoiding your mum. We haven't had lunch together in two months! I miss my grumpy second-born!"

"Mama…"

Knowingly, Yoko paused before encouraging in a gentle voice, "Go on."

Shota contemplated his words, chewing on a lock of his hair. "Maybe… Never mind. I shouldn't've called—"

"What's wrong, baby boy?"

That sentence alone brought water of frustration to his eyes. He chuckled to himself, knowing that Jiggy would call him a crybaby for it. "Uh," he said, strengthening his voice. "Well… I'm… not, uh…" He swallowed. "U-uh… um…"

"Take your time," Yoko said, a soft smile in her voice.

"I— It's… 'm having trouble. Parenting stuff." Shota felt a pang of bitterness tugging at his throat. _Why the hell are you going to Mama for parenting advice?_ it pressed. _After she screwed _you_ up?_ He willed it down, remembering how far his mother had come. For his and Jig's sake. For her own sake. "I kinda raged on Eri. She got into a squabble with another kid at a party, and I've told her not to take crap from people, but I didn't tell her to push the kid and throw a bucket at him, and I just let her have it when we got home, and—"

"Take a breath."

He did. "A-and… I, uh… Yeah. I just lost it. We didn't talk much after that—I just sent her to her room. She's in bed now, but…" He sighed. "What would you do?"

"Well," Yoko said, already sounding guilty. "Remember when you got into that fight in sixth grade?"

"I said what would you do, not what you did," Shota reminded. Yoko had tanned his backside in the car for letting a girl beat him up. But that was the past when she was different. "And that wasn't a fight. I got my ass kicked by a freakin' eighth grader."

"_Shota _Aizawa."

"I got my butt kicked by an eighth grader."

"Well, if I were raising you all over again," Yoko said, "I'd tell you to tell me what happened. I'd tell you I was proud of you for not hitting a girl back, but I'd tell you to figure out another way to protect yourself."

Shota pulled his chewed-up hair from his mouth. "And if I didn't tell you?"

"You remember how that went. You'd be grounded in your room until you did. Or I'd lock us both in your room so that you'd be forced to talk to me." Yoko paused. He heard her sigh a little. "And I would spare the rod a little more. I was a tad harsh on you."

Shota smiled lightly at that. "Only a little?" Yoko burst out laughing, insisting that he not get ahead of himself. "I guess I deserved it. Some of it." He listened to his mother's laughter for a while, cherishing it. Alcoholic's Child 101: cherish the laughs and smiles and hugs while they lasted. But she was sober now. Old habits. "Do go easier on yourself. You're a good mum now, and have been since you dragged me kicking and screaming from the streets. Don't dwell, 'kay?"

"God's blessed me with you, baby boy."

"Ma_ma_…" Shota protested. He glanced at the four empty beer bottles on his desk. Guilt slammed into his chest, causing him to nearly choke on his tongue. "So, uh… What, you're saying I should ground Eri? Like, some kind of test of will?"

"That's just what I'd do. But _you're_ her daddy, yeah? What would, and should, her daddy do? Just think about it. She's in bed now. You have hours."

"Yeah. That's rational." He bit his tongue. Old habits. "That…sounds like a good thing to do. I need to calm down, anyway."

"All right, love."

"All right."

"Take a long shower. Read your books. Write, maybe. _Don't_ drink." Shota winced, thankful his mother could not see his reaction or the bottles. "Just think. Lay in bed and just relax. Just don't drink, or else I'll come over and whoop ya."

Shota chuckled. "Yes, Mama."

"Off to bed, now. Love you, snugglebutt."

"_Ma_, naw!" Shota scrunched up his face. "Not that name again."

Yoko chuckled. "You never complained about it before."

"I _told_ you when I was, like, thirteen—"

"I _said_, I love you. Mama's waiting."

He rolled his eyes. "Love ya, too. Thanks."

"Of course."

"Night."

"Night, baby boy."

But he stayed up till three, grading papers, checking the Hero Network, drinking more. He knocked out on his desk and woke an hour earlier than the alarm. And he still had no idea what to do or say to Eri.

At school, after a quiet drive, Eri waited for her father to kiss her head before slugging off toward Ms. Akiko. Shota rubbed the back of his neck. "Have a good day, baby girl."

"Okay, Daddy," Eri mumbled, without turning to him. Just trudging forward, grasping her backpack straps with no smile or light in her eyes. "Bye bye."

Shota shoved his hands in his pockets. "Uh… I love you." It came out weak and almost non-committal. He prayed Eri would not notice, but he knew she would. He considered throwing out a bribe—maybe doughnuts after school—but he also did not want to pry.

Over the other kids' noise on the jungle gym, he could barely hear his daughter say, rehearsed, "I love you, too." She might as well have said _I guess_ afterwards. She disappeared into the classroom. His heart nearly gave out.

During homeroom, he took a smoke break after five minutes, and then during break. During lecture, Shota could barely focus enough not to pause every few sentences (not that the kids complained). Perhaps he had been too harsh on Eri. Maybe he should have called for a ditch day and just spent the day with her, rebuilding what his impatience might have cost them. Maybe he should have thought about Eri instead of how embarrassed he had been at the party. His gut lurched throughout the day. He should have held her once they got home. He should have piggybacked her to the park and back or wrestled and tickled her in the living room.

He should have just _listened_. Maybe the social worker had a reason to ask him all those stupid questions, after all. He sighed multiple times on the drive back to U.A., punctuated by stick shifts and clutch presses.

He would once he saw her again. He would apologize for snapping at her last night, remind her how much he loved her and that even daddies threw tantrums when they were supposed to be big boys. He would cook her favorite for dinner. Chicken miso ramen with pickled cucumbers and a cherry Coke. Apple fritters for dessert. They would watch _Tangled_. She would get an extra bubbly bath and have her hair washed and her nails painted. He would read whatever story she wanted for bedtime with all the funny voices she liked, in his bed, as always.

So, rather than wait for lunchtime, when Eri's school was out, he hurried to the administrative building during passing period to sign out for the day when he got a phone call.

"Hello?"

"Mr. Aizawa, hi. This is Ms. Akiko—Eri's teacher? We need you to ' 's— …_help_, please!"

"Sorry?" Shota frowned. He pulled the phone from his ear when the connection briefly cut out. He placed it back to his ear. "H-hello? Sorry, what's going on there?" Hardening his voice, he pressed, "Eri. Is she okay?"

"Eri's gone."

Shota dropped to his knees.


	14. Chapter 14 - Circles

_A/N: Hey, guys. Hope you're all safe out there. Special love for my CA fam; stay safe with all the smoke and power-outs. We'll get through it. Thanks for reading thus far - I appreciate you. _

_Now onto the story! Le'go! _

_Please R&R!_

**Chapter 14 Circles**

Eri's gone.

Shota gripped the steering wheel without release. His jaw clenched. Sweat pricked at the hairs on the back of his neck, sending stinging sensations among the jitters down his back. He swallowed periodically to fend off the water gathering in his irritated eyes. To hell with so-called manliness. To freaking hell with pro-hero's dignity. To fucking hell with it all! The thought, even the possibility, that Eri—his Eri, his baby girl—somehow got lost while he was elsewhere chewed at him, limb by limb. How could he be so careless? He should have chosen a different school, a better one. Screw money. His daughter's safety elevated above all costs.

_Eri's gone_. The words disallowed his body to even whimper.

But he did not. He failed. And now Eri was paying for it.

_She must be so scared_, he ruminated. _She's out there, God knows where, without me. What do I do? Why didn't I see this coming? I _knew _I should've homeschooled her. Screw everything! I can make time—I can make _all the time in the world_ for her! The _fuck _was I thinking?! What is wrong with me?! I should've fixed this—all of this—last night instead of hosting my own goddamn pity party! Such a fuckin' child… What is wrong with me?_

He parked his convertible with haste, shoving the gearshift around and the nearly tearing off the emergency break. His foot caught in the seatbelt, causing him to nearly somersault into the street. But he yanked it free, uncaring that the elongated strap got caught in the door. He sprinted to the main office, where Ms. Akiko and the principal, Mrs. Ishiyama, stood. Panic raced between the women's expressions, but neither could match the shattering horror in Shota's eyes alone.

Ms. Akiko stepped up first, "Thank God—"

"Where's my daughter?" Shota demanded, breathless and eyes crazed in a manner reserved for worried-sick parents. Parents on high-alert, ready to crumble or attack. He looked between the women, impatiently. "Where's my baby?"

"Mr. Aizawa, please come sit—"

"I s-_said_, wh—" On any other day, he would reflect on his anger as irrational and a waste of time when they all could be out searching for Eri. But now, even the thought of breathing escaped him. He swallowed hard and took a breath to calm his stutter. His tongue refused the sound, so he instead insisted, "Please. My Eri. Tell me."

"We are trying to figure that out now," Mrs. Ishiyama claimed. When Shota turned his attention to her, she noted the fire—and the sorrow, guilt, panic—in his eyes.

Ms. Akiko wiped her eyes. "I was just…watching the kids play, and then, all of the sudden, she's gone!"

"No," Shota growled. "Gone would be she was never here to begin with. Gone means she's not in any danger!" Subconsciously, his Quirk awakened. His red eyes and lifted hair gave rise to the two women, though they tried their best not to show it. "_Gone_ would mean she's not out there, God knows where, _by herself_, waiting for someone to come get her when shit gets real!" Shota blinked, deactivating Erasure and dismissing approaching tears. "She's not gone. She's…" _Lost_. Even thinking it threatened his red-fisted composure, so he bit his tongue and prayed his eyes or cheeks, or both, were not turning pink.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Aizawa." The principal pushed a tissue box to him. "We understand how hard this is for you—"

"Dry-eye. Where did you last see my daughter?"

"The playground. Recess," Ms. Akiko said. "She was sitting under the tree by the spring toys."

"Did you notice anything off?"

"She didn't talk to her friends like usual."

_And you did nothing about it. Couldn't be bothered_, Shota chided, internally. He took a breath to refrain from saying it aloud to her. Instead, he said, "Did she say anything to you? She was quiet this morning, too."

"No."

"How many times did you ask, and _how_ did you ask?

"I asked her if she was okay during snack time, during classwork, and recess." Ms. Akiko pursed her lips together in thought. "I just sat beside her and asked her right away. She wouldn't even look at me."

"Then, I don't need to be here. Thanks. Bye." Shota turned on his heel and headed for the door. Had this been any other day, if Eri were still in the yard, he would have noticed the accusing stares of the principal. Understandable—kids don't just come to school with swollen eyes and wobbling chins for no reason. But right now, Eri was out there on the street and Shota was wasting time here in the school's main office. "Please call me if she shows up here."

Mrs. Ishiyama called out. "Wait!"

He ran to his car.

**##**

He checked every curve of every neighborhood in every town within a two-mile radius of the school, every store, every park and recreational center, churches… That one left him with guilt—the holy men tried to make him stay long enough for a prayer of comfort and luck, but he hurriedly excused himself and rushed out the door before he could hear their answer. He revved Gypsy between spots, keeping the top down in case he needed to literally jump out once the car was in park. After five hours of searching to no avail, he was exhausted and further in Musutafu's valley than Eri would rationally go. But what the hell. Eri's surprised him many times before, and desperation would not let still his racing heart until he checked every area. But when he did, his heart only accelerated.

His stomach ached in hunger, eyes burned from staring, back cramped from sitting, then standing, and sitting, then standing. A headache hammered in the center of his forehead. Nowhere to be found was his white-haired baby girl who could not stop laughing during hide-and-seek to save her. He stopped at the A.B.C. to retrieve one of Eri's sweatshirts as the sun went down. Then, back out and into his car he went. _I swear once this is all over, I'm getting her chipped_.

He wondered: did thoughts like that contribute to Eri's disappearance? Did he push her away by treating her like a responsibility, rather than a daughter?

He had re-searched twelve neighborhoods when his phone rang. "Yes?" He recoiled at the harsh bite to his tone.

His mother, luckily, hardly noticed. "Hey, baby boy. It's me."

Shota knew Eri would not show up at his mother's house, or his grandparents' house. Edogawa was a bit of ways from Musutafu. Back in high school, he had to take the ferry just to get to and from U.A. every morning and afternoon. "I'm a li'l busy right now. Can this wait?"

"No," Yoko said. "You and I need to get something straight first."

Sensing the lecture in the sharp edges of her tone—her new tone; as a kid, her lectures came with fiery volumes and fiery words laminated with gin—Shota closed his eyes to keep audibly growling. But he let himself roll his eyes. He put the phone on speaker, set it by the gearshift, and kept driving around, eyes darting from bush to fence to tree to sandlot.

"And you're gonna explain it to me _right now_."

"Oh, boy."

"_Excuse _me?"

"_Yes_, Mama." He turned a corner. "Anything you say."

"Best you wipe out that smart mouth, mister."

"…Okay."

"Right now."

"Mama, can we please just get on with it?" Shota asked, trying to sound assertively polite. It would only translate to his mother as cutthroat disrespect, so he added, "Eri's missing."

By the way Yoko had paused, and the length of it, he knew how vulnerable and pathetic his voice sounded. "Oh. Is she…? Are you okay?"

"I'm looking for her right now. I'm fine." Shota, while changing lanes, caught sight of his eyes in the rearview mirror. He was already crying. Cursing in his head, he quickly wiped his face and cleared his throat. "She's bound to be around here somewhere. She's five, for God's sake."

"Tha's the spirit. Need me to come out your way?"

"Nah, it's… I got it." Amongst the green and salmon of a local park, gated by brick behind the benches set aside for parents, he barely caught a glimpse of a little white-haired girl. He nearly slammed on the brakes, but then he saw the short length and needle-straight texture of the girl's hair. When he squinted, he could make out a smooth forehead where Eri's gold horn would poke out. "Now, c'mon. On with it."

"Well, it's about Jong. And you dumping him on your grandparents," Yoko delivered in a flat, stern tone. A tone reserved for misbehaving teenagers.

Shota rolled his eyes again. "I take it back. How was your day?"

"I got my nails done and my hair trimmed. I _was_ going to go over to a friend's house for wine—don't worry, just a glass—when your brother called." It was as if she had seen how that final phrase tugged at the tendons in Shota's neck when she added, "In tears."

Shota said nothing at first. But he swallowed hard. "What's he got his hands on this time?"

"Try asking if he's okay first."

"He threw me through the ringer, emotionally and financially. Excuse me for being on the defensive whenever we talk about him."

"You boys… Honestly," his mother said in a defeated voice. "You used to be so close, especially after you came back home from the streets."

"Life happens."

"How could you say that, Shota?"

"I was close to Chi, too. Then, life happened." As in: cheating, divorce, alcoholism. Their father chose Chi over Shota, and left him with Yoko and her rising alcohol addiction and over-the-top opera career.

That reminder gave his mother pause.

In the silence, guilt took over Shota's heart the way it always did when he snapped at her. "Jig stole money from my payment to get drugs. The clinic sent me a penalty. So, I sent him to Dad."

"Your grandfather told me that part."

"Figured if anyone could straighten Jig out, it'd be him. He straightened _me_ out a ton of times."

"No one's more stubborn than you. I know that for a fact," Yoko commented.

"So, it'll be fine."

"You've always been one to search for improvement, eventually. Takes you a bit longer with some things than others, but you come around and do the smart thing." Her words said it all, and Shota knew it to be the truth: Jong was one to take the what-is-and-always-is in life, where Shota was more of a what-is-and-what-can-be thinker. Jong never cared to work day after day for anything. He just flowed with the stream of life with easy shrugs and darting interests. Until he got bored. Jong could never stand being bored.

Shota frowned. "You went to rehab, too. Wasn't just me who came through. Why can't you handle him?"

"Well," Yoko said, easily. By her tone alone, Shota knew her next words would sting. "While you were on the streets for nearly two years, I was 'handling' him." He had no rebuttal, so he let the silence play out before he sighed. "Your brother needs _you_. He's not like you, but that's why he needs you to guide him. Give him some incentive."

Shota's heart etched again. Even if it failed to be reciprocated, a surefire way to his heart, and greatest guards, was his big sister and little brother. But he had to focus on Eri—his _entire_ heart and the beaming, stubborn truth concealed inside him. "I know," is all he could say. "I'll… get to him. But now, I need to find my daughter. Can I go now?"

Yoko sighed. "Jong said to my face that he would do better this time, if _you'd_ give him a second chance—"

"Seventh, actually."

"Another chance, then."

Shota sighed, rubbing his eyes. "Well, that's all well and good. But you and I both know that when it comes to rehab, it's up to him if he wants to get better or not. At the end of the day—"

"And it's up to _you_ to make sure you're there for him." Yoko's voice rose a tad upon interruption.

"I tried! I've been trying _so_ hard!" Shota composed himself. "But it's hella expensive and it's hella draining on me, and if he can't even _try_ to get better… I don't know."

"Either you talk him back into going," Yoko proposed, "or he's living with you. I'm fed up with the two of you bickering all the time!"

"He's not living with me. Not while he's doing all this crap."

"Listen, _mister_—"

"I have a daughter to look after. I don't want her to see that." Shota's heart clenched at the thought of Eri. He needed to be out there, searching, not here on the phone to have a pointless conversation. "I'm the one paying for Jig's treatment, so wherever he goes is up to me, don't you think?" The silence on the other end made him suspect his mother was going to hang up on him. So, he said, "I'm sorry. I want Eri to hold onto as much innocence as she can. She's already been through enough."

"Let me say this, then." Yoko was pissed, he knew. "You may be grown, and you may be paying the clinic. But you two are still _my _sons—"

"Is Chi still your daughter?" Shota froze over. He had not meant for that to come out. Not really. He had thought it, and somehow it manifested into words before he could realize. "Mama, I didn't mean—"

"We'll have a talk later, then."

"No, Mama, I didn't mean to say that—"

"Later, Shota. We can talk later."

_Shit_. Shota sighed. "Okay… Yeah."

She hung up first. He sighed and let his phone close itself, watching it do so at a red light. A moon of fire hydrant red reflected off his car's hood against the black of night. He turned up the radio and was greeted by… He barely paid it any mind. But he _did_ notice the slamming of raindrops on his windshield… and seats, wheel, the entire inside of his convertible. He put the hood up, and secured the latches. He _had_ to find Eri. He glanced at the clock before driving to Musutafu's western, northern, eastern, and southern outskirts, checking each neighborhood and park. The sun had already set hours ago.

He knew Eri was developing in ways that made them similar, and picking up some of his habits casually. But if Eri was _exactly_ like him in a situation where she was lost—or worse, did not want to be found—she would sneak onto a bus to wherever. He prayed the latter was not the case; he could not begin to fathom a reason as to _why _Eri would resort to running away, as he had done.

Anger rose suddenly in him, sending electric red veins to border his vision. He put in eyedrops, but no relief was giving. It was just that—he was angry. Beyond angry. He and his mother could play pretend-happy-family all they wanted; when it came down to where it mattered, their relationship, as warm and soft as it was, had some areas that were gilded. Remnants of his childhood were deeply sown into the sight of her the moment she became angry, the moment Shota became livid with her. But he was far from the nervous, stuttering kid that flinched whenever she waved a hand, who could not argue with her to save himself. Yet she acted so surprised when he spoke against her, thought she could just bark orders and that would be the end of it. Maybe back in the countryside, that would work.

But they were different people now. _He_ was different from her, and his grandparents in that way. Jong, even more so. Shota had nothing else in mind but those bitter thoughts that strangulated his mind to rid of any positive, hopeful dwellings. Just rage unsaid.

He needed to get it out.

He sped across town, merging onto the freeway, swerving between lollygagging minivans and sedans with ease. He made it into the core of Tokyo in almost fifteen minutes. A suburban neighborhood on the east outskirts greeted him, streetlights searing the black hood of his car, judging him for this oncoming, necessary mistake. He parked before a soap-colored, flat house and leapt from his car when his racing heartbeat accelerated beyond safety.

The door opened. A woman of thirty-some appeared in the threshold, pampered in a wool bathrobe with her hair wrapped up in a towel. "Shota? You're soaked—"

He kissed her before the door slammed.


End file.
